


Faerie Lore

by Miss_Sketchi



Category: Faerie Folklore, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe-Shire is lost, BAMF Hobbits, Baby Dwarves, Baby Hobbits, Bearded Dwarf Women, Blood and Gore, Do Not Separate The Heirs Of Durin, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Politics, Fae Bilbo Baggins, Fae Magic, Female Bilbo, Female Nori (Tolkien), Fíli and Kíli Are Little Shits, Gender changing, Hobbit Children, Hobbit Courting, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Male Bilbo, Messing with Folklore, Multi, Obsessive Behavior, Overprotective Dwarves, Overprotective Thorin, Stubborn Dwarves, Timeline What Timeline, Tooks, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Sketchi/pseuds/Miss_Sketchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo never knew the Shire when it was free from bloodshed and terror, or when he wasn't scared of being taken away in the night. But that wasn't what made him odd, no, he was different from other hobbits in a couple ...other ways. </p><p>So when he escapes the land of his birth with two little hobbits in his arms, he follows an heirloom east towards the great city of Erebor. But when he gets there, all is not well. There are unexplained happenings occurring far over the Misty Mountains that Bilbo has only heard of in old Tookish stories--disappearances, curses, a magic relic or two. All Bilbo wanted was a safe home for his family, but it seems he needs to make his last hope work by taking matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of a New Adventure

Far to the west lay the land known as the Shire. Not much is known except that the Shire is a green land of plentiful fields and soft rolling hills that are cared for by the small, fuzzy-footed hobbits. And these accounts were true. Decades ago.

 

Years ago the Shire was just as green as could be with many sweet flowers, and ample harvests. Then something began to grow. Something twisted and foul grew in the absence of sunlight. The hobbits gave it a name. The Thicket.

 

It began at the border near the Brandywine river. Black thorny vines began to grow over the hedge that kept the Old Forest at bay. Vine-y brambles as tough as iron and as noxious as nightshade. Farmers of Buckland were unable to cut down the deadly plant, so it continued to grow when the sun hid and shadows stretched.

 

It spread to North Farthing down to Tookborough, and still no one could cut down the brambles. It eventually wrapped around to West Farthing, completely cutting the Shire off from the rest of Middle Earth. But that was only the beginning of the end of Shire peace.

* * *

 

 

On a night lit by the harvest moon Bilbo Baggins ran. He ran as fast as he could, following the the rising moon as far away from the Shire as possible. He stopped to pant by a tall gnarled tree, clutching his bundled cloak to his chest. He turned towards the west.

 

            _I can’t see the Brandywine anymore. Or the Old Forest._ The bundle in his arms gave to distinct whimpers, and shifted slightly. Bilbo looked down at the face of two faunts peeking out of his cloak hood.

 

“Are you alright my lads?” Bilbo asked, his breath still ragged. The older of the two nodded his curly head blearily. Bilbo nodded, trying to suppress a shudder as the cold air chilled his body. He closed his eyes, he needed a moment to gather his wits.

 

            “Where we goin’?” The little faunt asked, his voice laced with curiosity. Bilbo had opened his answer when the younger boy, a baby, reached up and clasped his hand around the string that Bilbo wore around his neck.

 

            Bilbo looked down seeing a tiny pink hand on the necklace he got from his mother. He looked at the coin pendant that shone dully.

 

            “Erebor.” Bilbo said steadily. “We’re going to Erebor ,Merry.” “And Pippin?” Merry asked, looking at the baby he was bundled with.

 

“Yes, Merry. Pippin too.” Bilbo said with a small, but warm smile. Merry nodded before snuggling in the cloak again. Bilbo waited until the two were safely snuggled in before continuing east.


	2. Bunnies, Bears, and a Wizard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and his boys make a couple of acquaintances as he continues east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Merry's age is eight.

            Bilbo wasn’t sure how how long he had been running. The sun was high over his curly head, but he carried on with aching limbs and burning lungs. Baby Pippin began to cry shrilly, which made Merry start to tear up, so Bilbo trudged over to a shady willow tree with a heavy stride.

 

 He gently placed the boys down on the soft grass before he collapsed against the rough bark. He cradled Pippin slowly, as Merry nuzzled his way into his aching side. Pippin was still crying, and Bilbo was trying to figure if it was from hunger, thirst or something else.

 

He was brought out of his thoughts by a sudden thunder of thumps coming from the denser wood. Bilbo instantly picked Merry up and was ready to bolt when he spotted rabbits. Very large rabbits.  A bout a dozen giant rabbits harnessed to a sleigh.

 

 He was so baffled by the rabbits that he didn’t notice the dirty bearded man in worn brown robes approach them with a long, gnarled walking stick in his hand. Bilbo was about to bolt when the man raised his hands cautiously.

 

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” The old man said in a slight panic. “I don’t mean any harm!”

 

Bilbo didn’t change his stance but he didn’t move either. He clutched the fauntlings closer to his chest. The old man before him had an unkempt beard that was matted, and his clothes looked rumpled, wrinkled and tattered. He wasn’t sure what the man gets up to.

 

“My name is Radagast. Radagast the Brown.” The man said in a more soothing voice. “I’m a wizard.”

 

Bilbo looked at the walking stick in the other’s hand. It looked like a gnarled branch, and at the top rested a blue gem. There was something in his gut telling him that this man is definitely more than a scraggily eccentric.

 

“D’you know Gandalf?” Bilbo eventually asked, hope touching his voice. “Yes.” Radagast said, a small nervous smile starting to form.

 

A rabbit started to thump the ground quickly. Radagast turned to look at the rabbit.

 

“Oh, would you please be a bit more patient Mortimer?” Radagast said fussily, gesturing with the bottom of his staff and a waving arm.

 

“Are you a friend ‘f Gandy’s?” Merry asked in a cheery voice. “Gandy?” Radagast echoed, a befuddled look on his face.

 

“He means Gandalf.” Bilbo translated for the wizard. “Oh.” Radagast chirped, a little mouse peeking from his coin purse.

 

“Yes, yes I know Gandalf.” Radagast said. “I’d consider him my closest friend. Among us wizards that is. Don’t see him all that often.”

“Anyway, what I was going to say was--” The brown wizard paused. His face grew thoughtful, then confused, then slightly annoyed. “Oh! I had a thought! It was on the tip of my tongue!” 

 

Then he had a look of revelation. “Oh, it’s not a thought at all.” He said before opening his mouth. He picked a very much alive stick bug off of his tongue. “It’s just a little stick insect!” He cheered. Bilbo scrunched up his nose, which Merry mimicked and stuck his tongue out.

 

“Ah, yes my thought!” Radagast said happily. Then his face grew more worried. “What are you three hobbits doing out here?” He asked.

 

“We're heading east.” Was all Bilbo said. “Well you’ve managed to get over the Misty Mountains.” Radagast said, looking at the formidable mountains that lay to their west. Bilbo grimaced, remembering the dangerous mountain pass. He hoped to go stay away from that death trap for a long while.

 

“Further east.” Bilbo replied, feeling the cool coin pendant under his shirt.  “With nothing but the clothes on your backs?” Radagast asked in shock. Bilbo flushed, but tried to hide it. “I can forage food, and start a fire.” He said.

 

Radagast looked down at the three with a pinched look of concern. Then a rabbit began to thump again and make… whatever noises rabbits make. “You all think so?” Radagast asked. All the rabbits thumped their big feet in response.

 

“Well young hobbits, my friends here would like to take you to a safe house.” Radagast said with a kind smile. “Who’s house?” Bilbo asked warily.

 

“I believe his name is Beorn. He’s a large man, but is a gentle soul…at times.” Radagast muttered the last part hastily. “If I recall he’s a skin-changer. Sometimes as a big man, other times a big black bear.”

 

 “He has a home that’s safe from goblins, orc packs, and wargs. My friends think you should stop there to better prepare for your journey.”

 

Bilbo looked at the man, then down at the shifting bundle in his tired arms. He thought of the scarce amount of food he had in his rag-turned-pouch and of two tired, hungry boys. “Okay.” Bilbo said. “We’ll go to this Mister Beorn’s house.”

 

* * *

 

“WHEE!” “AAIIEE!”

 

Bilbo clutched the two little ones close to his chest as they practically flew over the plains and hills. “How can these rabbits do that!?” He screamed as they made a wide turn.

 

“These are Rhosgobel Rabbits!” Radagast said in a cheerful shout. “BUNNIES!” Merry screamed happily, throwing his hands up as the wind tore through their hair.

 

They made many sharp twist and turns at high speeds, the rabbits’ feet thundering like a summer storm. Eventually when the ground began to show a beech forest in a bright green clearing the rabbits began to slow down before stopping in front of a gate. It was a huge, foreboding wooden gate, with a warg pelt left out to dry, and an orc head on on a spike.

Bilbo felt his large hairy feet go cold as the gate seemed to loom over him. Radagast hopped off the sleigh and nervously tapped at the gate with his wizard staff. It was quiet save for the rabbits thumping and scratching themselves, and the giggles of two little faunts. Then the gates began to creak open, making Bilbo jump in his seat.

 

Loud, heavy footsteps were heard, followed by the biggest and most intimidating man Bilbo had ever seen (granted he never saw any men until he left the Shire, but still.

 

 “Ah, wizard.” The man, Beorn, Bilbo assumed said in a deep voice heavy with an accent he has not heard even among other men.  “What brings you by my home?”

 

Radagast nervously gestured to Bilbo and his two wards. “These three are travelling east and they need a place to rest and prepare for the rest of their journey.” Radagast said, wringing his hands around his staff.

 

Merry hopped up, and walked towards the giant’s feet. Bilbo hurried towards the eight-year-old boy, carrying the babe on his hip.

 

“Hi!” Merry said, waving his little hand. Beorn’s big bear brown eyes widened as he looked at the little boy that stood well below his knee.

 

“Ah.” Bilbo stuttered. “Good morning.” He said, putting a hand on Merry’s shoulder. Beorn looked down at the three of them with an unreadable expression. “Little bunnies are welcome. Come in.” He said with a curt nod. Bilbo let out a squeak when he, Merry and Pippin were picked up by the towering man as if they weighed the same as newborn kittens.

 

Bilbo felt his heart sink when he noticed Radagast leaving with his rabbits.

 

Beorn kicked the gate closed before walking past fields of the biggest crops and blossoms Bilbo had ever seen. His fright took a back seat to the awe of the amazing gardens. There were pumpkins the size of cartwheels and flowers as big as dinner plates, all thriving in the harvest season.

 

Bilbo was so engrossed in the scenery that he nearly fell over when Beorn set him, and Merry back down on their feet before the door to the giant home.

 

“Little Bunnies.” Beorn said addressing the hobbits. “Come inside for milk and honey bread.” Beorn opened the door.

 

  “’M not a bunny!” Merry said with a cute, rosy cheeked pout as the three walked into Beorn’s house. “I’m a hobbit.”

 

Beorn seated them at a large wooden table that bore well made animal carvings. And to his shock, and Merry’s utter delight dogs and sheep came into the dining room and gave them all a tall tankard of thick, creamy milk and soft, warm bread. Or a bowl of milk and oatmeal in Pippin’s case.

 

Bilbo would say a thanks to his host every other time his mouth was open. “No thanks needed.” Beorn said with a less gruff tone, watching Merry trying to lick the honey off of his cheeks, and Bilbo spooning food to a giggling Pippin.

 

Beorn had waited for the food to be eaten before turning to Bilbo again. “Baby Bunnies can play with lambs and puppies out in the garden.” The large man said.

 

“Ah—I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience.” Bilbo stammered.

 

“Please?” Merry asked, his eyes growing even bigger. “Please Mama Bilba?” Merry asked.

 

Bilbo chewed his lip in thought. “The lambs will watch the Baby Bunnies.” Beorn reassured.

 

Eventually Bilbo said yes, and Merry rode out on a sheep’s wooly back. Bilbo kept Pippin in his lap who was nodding off into a nap. When Merry was outside, and Pippin asleep against his now full belly Beorn looked directly at Bilbo.

 

“Why have you and Baby Bunnies come so far with so little on you?” Beorn asked. “The villain of Mordor has been gone for an age, but orc packs still roam; and you have naught a blade or club on you.”

 

Bilbo colored a bit and looked at the grain of the table. “It’s a long story.” Bilbo said. “I like stories.” Beorn countered.  “You won’t like this one.” Bilbo sighed before speaking.

 

* * *

 

_Bilbo had never left the Shire. No one has since his mother was a young girl. The Thicket—poisonous, iron-tough brambles encircled the whole of the Shire. After the Thicket took its roots, there were horrible happenings in the Shire._

_If a hobbit wandered outside their home during the night, they were found dead by morning. The Thain, leader of the Shire, lead an investigation, pointing to a twisted being known now as Gollum._

_Gollum was as quick and silent as shadows, but was as twisted as the foulest orc, so my grandfather said. The stories I’ve been told say that he had managed to gather dark, profane magic. All I know is that if you see his great big eyes in the black shadows, he’ll kill you and eat your heart._

_That’s how it was for years. Until recently. A few years ago, hobbits were found dead in their own homes, strangled and missing their hearts. Even children were no longer safe. Hysteria broke out, and paranoia ran rampant._

_Some paranoid, deluded hobbits thought to try and please Gollum so that they and their families would be safe in return. So they began stealing away hobbits, young and old, as sacrifices._

_I feared for the lives of my loved ones. So I would risk going out to the Thicket, hoping to find a way to destroy the horrid thing. Instead I found a way out of the Shire. I told my grandfather, the Thain about it._

_‘You need to go Bilba.’ He said to me. ‘Take as many of our people out there with you. There’s a town west of us called Bree, where men and hobbits live side by side. Take them there, and then find Gandalf.’_

_‘Gandalf is a wizard in grey clothes, and has a pointed hat. He’ll figure out how to beat that wretched bush.’_

_But word had reached the fanatics about our plan, and many families were ambushed. We panicked and we all ran for the gap. The Thain and I led as many as we could out, but after some time, the gap in the Thicket grew over, trapping the rest._

_While the others followed my uncles to Bree, I left for the east hoping to find Gandalf and a safe place to raise my two wards._

* * *

 

It was deathly quiet when Bilbo finished regaling his tale. “That is quite a tale.” Beorn said in a grizzly voice. “But I believe you, Little Bunny.”

 

Bilbo let loose a pent up breath. “You and Baby Bunnies are welcome to stay, and take what you need for your journey.”

 

“Thank you Master Beorn.” Bilbo said with a grateful smile. “It’s no trouble.” Was all the skin-changer said before leaving Bilbo alone with the snoozing baby he cradled.

 

 

 

 


	3. Comings and Goings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hobbits make another leg in their journey to the Lonely Mountain.

The Hobbits or “Little Bunnies” as Beorn liked to call them, stayed for about a fortnight.

Beorn was kind enough to give them packs with much needed supplies. Bilbo had also slipped a little acorn he found under the big shady oak tree into his pocket. He wanted a little memory seed for their travels from here onwards.

 

* * *

 

They left one crisp morning, when the sun shone bright. Beorn gave them all bear hugs and hearty well wishes. A single long haired pony was to be their guide to the edge of Mirkwood.

 

“My pony will not enter that forest. While not as bad as it once was, there is still a darkness that lies upon that forest.” Beorn had said.

 

At those words Bilbo almost asked if they could stay, but the pendant around the hobbit’s neck gave a ray of hope to walk to the Lonely Mountain.

 

“If things don’t work out in the mountain, you can expect to see a drastic decrease in your honey supply.” Bilbo said with a bit of Tookish cheek.

 

Beorn just chuckled and nodded. “You and Babies are always welcome.”

 

Bilbo gave the skin changer another hug, as that’s how the large fellow showed his care. After Merry was clambered onto the oldest hobbit’s back, and Pippin was tied to the front the front, they set off, following the gentle mare.

 

They walked in a steady, peaceful silence for a bit of time. Until Merry got bored. Then he began to ask lots of questions that Bilbo had to make up an answer for, or Bilbo had to sing silly songs to keep his loud talking from making Pippin cry.

 

“Mama Bilba?” Merry asked. “Hmm?” Bilbo hummed, walking next to the pony, giving her constant thankful and kind pets.

 

“Will you grow your hair back?” Merry asked, grasping handfuls of chin-length curls. “Perhaps.” Bilbo mused. “You should.” Merry said with a confident voice only a eight-year-old can manage.

 

“Should I?” Bilbo asked playfully. “How long do you think I should grow it?”

 

Merry rested his little chin on top of Bilbo’s head, deeply thinking. “Long.” Merry said. “Longer tha’ before Meany-Head Otho cut it.”

 

Bilbo grimaced at the mention of that particular relative, but it vanished quickly. “You want it around my waist?” Bilbo asked.

 

Merry nodded, even though it was questionable as to whether or not he knew what a waist was at that time.

 

“It’s pretty.” Merry said again. “An’ I like touchin’ it. It’s soft and bouncy.” Bilbo just chuckled. “Mmhmm.” Merry said, nodding. “You’s is the prettiest. Like honey an’ sunshin’.” Merry said, roughly mussing the curls.

 

“Really?” Bilbo asked, skeptically raising a brow. “D’you often tell people such nice things?”

 

“I told Missus Willowby tha’ she can jump as high as a frog.”

 

Bilbo laughed hard, causing Pippin to giggle.

 

They rested under a shady apple tree, so Bilbo felt it was only fair to give the sweet pony several apples for guiding them. He also pocketed a few to give the sweet girl some on her way back home.

 

When the continued on, Merry ended up napping on the back of Bilbo’s shoulder after stuffing his belly with sweet, extra juicy apples. Bilbo and the pony carried on walking side by side in either comfortable silence, or him telling her about the Shire…well the good parts at least.

 

This carried on for a time, until the pony gave a sudden stop. Bilbo looked forward and knew why Beorn wanted his pony to stay out of the forest.

 

Before the hobbits and pony lay a large, dense wood. The trees were ancient and gnarled around each other, and loomed far over the curly tops of the hobbits. The very air that hung around the trees seemed thick, heavy and uneasy.

 

Merry woke with a start before curling his arms around Bilbo, and Merry gave a whimper. “Is it th’ Old Forest?” Merry whispered loudly.

 

 “No.” Bilbo said, gulping. “But this wood is sick. Very sick.” Everything about this wood seemed foreboding, and every instinct in the three-foot-odd body said to LEAVE.

 

The pony neighed and nuzzled Bilbo’s hand. Bilbo gave a comforting pat to the muzzle.

 

“Here you go.” The adult hobbit said, feeding the pony three apples in thanks. “You were very brave, girl. Now you can go back home.” And after a another nuzzle, the pony trotted back.

 

Bilbo walked towards the imposing trees towards what looked like the remains of an old stone path. With a deep inhale, the three took the step into Mirkwood.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo hated Mirkwood. The sun didn’t shine through the canopy, the air was thick and muggy, and he was beginning to feel dizzy. Bilbo staggered towards a vine covered statue that was missing a limb or two.

 

Bilbo could hear nothing except his own heavy breathing, and the sleeping sounds the two faunts made.

 

“Why don’t those elves take care of this path?” The hobbit mused, wiping heavy layers of sweat with the jacket sleeve. Bilbo glared up at the statue through a layer of sweat.

 

 “I’m blaming you for this you barmy, oversized, hoity-toity dandy.” Bilbo muttered, mood fouled by the sickness of the forest.

 

Bungo Baggins was no doubt rolling in his grave, but Bilbo didn’t care at this point. There were more pressing matters than being polite to a decrepit statue.

 

Clomp. Clomp. Bilbo went rigid. Merry woke up grumpily and groggily. Turning very slowly, Bilbo’s hazel eyes went wide. Standing ahead of them on the cracked stone pathway was a white deer.

 

The stag stood tall, antlers resting like a crown on the pure white animal. The deer walked closer, hooves clomping lightly. As the white deer drew near it felt as if the air grew lighter.

 

Bilbo didn’t break eye contact, and bowed respectfully before the deer. The stag stood close to the bowing hobbit, and lowered his head to match Bilbo’s action. Bilbo straightened up, eyes never leaving the deer.

 

“Hello.” Bilbo greeted. “Hi.” Merry said, shyly hiding against Bilbo’s neck. The stag stood still.  There was a sudden breeze that swirled fallen leaves around Bilbo’s hairy feet.

 

 _“Kud-dukan.”_ The breeze seemed to whisper. _“Kudugin.”_

 

Bilbo’s eyes widened. Kudugin—Hobbits.

 

“Hello.” Bilbo said again, unsure of what to say. 

 

 _“Ban-an-ti.”_ The wind whispered in the hobbit’s pointy ears.

 

Bilbo’s eyes widened again, as thoughts raced to recollect whatever scraps of information could be gleamed from old family stories.

 

_“Whose child are thou, Ban-an-ti?”_

 

“I am Bilba Baggins of Bag End. Child of Belladonna Took.” Bilbo said.

 

 _“Where do you go Ban-an-ti?”_ The whispers asked. _“Where is your home?”_

Home.

 

“Far, far away.” Bilbo said, lowering his eyes to Pippin’s curls. “Lost to black curses and the blood of innocents.”

 

The wind picked up, violently tearing at their clothes and whipping their hair. It howled around the hobbits, as if a cry of anguish. The wind began to push the hobbits forward along the craggy path. The little hobbits clung to each other tightly, Pippin’s cries matching the unearthly shrieking wind.

_“Beware the jewel of the mountain, Ban-an-ti! Beware the jewel and the madness it brings!”_ The wind cried.

 

 Then the wind dissipated with a sound like a broken sob. Bilbo chanced opening his eyes, only to see the end of the forest. he turned back.

 

The white stag stood behind them. “Mama Bilba?” Merry asked, sniffling. “Shh.” Bilbo cooed, gently patting the curly top.

 

 “Thank you.” He told the deer with another bow. The stag bowed back before leaping off the path and deep into the dark woods.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo turned back around and walked briskly out to the open air and sunlight. The hobbits all smiled, glad for the soothing autumn air and the bright sunlight. Bilbo looked towards the north and saw it.

 

A single solitary peak that touched the clouds. Erebor.

 

“Lo there!” A voice called. Bilbo turned. At the river edge was a man with dark hair, half-tied back, in a worn brown coat. What shocked Bilbo the most was the bow the man carried. It was taller than the man himself!

 

“Are you an elf-child?” The man asked, bringing something wooden onto the edge of the river.

 

“We’re hobbits!” Merry cried loudly. The man jolted back in surprise. “Sorry, but he is right.” Bilbo said with a polite smile.

 

“Hobbits?” The man asked, in a tone that was almost amazed. “I’ve heard tell of hole dwelling little-folk from Rohan’s traders. I always assumed they were nothing more than children’s stories.”

 

Bilbo huffed. “Well Mister, we are as real as you, and you big folk. Next you’ll be telling me that faeries, and wights aren’t real.”

 

The man opened his mouth, then closed it again.

 

“Oh, where are my manners.” Bilbo scolded himself. “We should introduce ourselves.”

 

“Hi!” Merry shouted. “I’m Merry Brandybuck.”

 

“This is Mama Bilba.” The faunt said nuzzling cheek to cheek with Bilbo. “And tha’s Baby Pippin Took.” Merry pointed at the baby tied to Bilbo’s front.

“Ah.” The man said as if in surprise. “I’m Bard of Laketown.” The man, Bard introduced.

 

“May I ask where you three are heading?” Bard asked. “Erebar!” Merry crowed before Bilbo could get a word in.

 

“The Lonely Mountain?” Bard asked grimly. “Yes, we came to start new lives.” Bilbo explained.

 

Bard looked up at the sky. “It will be well past sunset if you head up now, and the roads are not safe at night.” He said, a deep frown forming on his face.

 

Bilbo wilted at the news. He was so close.

 

“You three could lodge at my house for the night.” Bard said. Bilbo looked up at him questioningly. “You would house us?” Bilbo asked skeptically.

 

“The roads aren’t safe at night. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to put your children in any danger if you could help it.” Bard said. There was a look that Bilbo knew but couldn’t name. Then a spark jumped in his mind.

 

“You have children.” Bilbo deduced. Bard nodded, a smile forming on his face. “Aye. Three.”

 

Bilbo smiled back, politely. “What do you think boys?” Bilbo asked. “I wanna meet Mister Bard’s family!” Merry beamed. Pippin gave happy coos and dribble.

 

“Well, it looks like we’ll take you up on your offer Mister Bard.” Bilbo said.

 

Bard nodded and moved to the wooden contraption. “Come along then. It will get colder the longer we dawdle.”  The man said as he climbed in the wooden thing.

 

Bilbo followed him, but warily stood on the bank. “What is that thing anyway?” He asked, pointing to the thing Bard was standing on.

 

The man looked confused. “What?” He asked. “This thing in the water.” Bilbo said, motioning to the large thing.

 

“You mean my barge?” Bard asked. “What’s a barge?” Merry asked. Bard tapped the flat floor of the contraption. “This is a barge. It’s a type of boat.”

 

“Oh, I’ve heard stories about boats and rivers.” Bilbo said enthusiastically. “They float things across lots of deep water.”

 

Bard nodded hesitantly. “You’ve never seen a boat?” Bard asked.

 

Bilbo shook his head. “Until I escaped with my boys, I’d never left my hometown. To think that rivers, mountains, and homes not built under hills were real!”  he said excitedly, wanderlust touching his blood.

Bard shook off his brief look of disbelief and helped the hobbits climb aboard. He also helped untie Pippin so he can move around a bit before casting off.

 

The river was flat and glassy, mirroring the sky. Bard calmly steered them past bits of old stone that jutted out from the river. Upon closer looks, those bits of stone were bits of an old city. They continued on, until—

 

“There’s Laketown.” Bard said.

 

Upon great big wooden stilts was a town. The town seemed old with the way nothing was level, or stood straight. Bard steered them past a gate where he nodded to an old grey bearded man with a patched coat.

 

“This town is full of Men?” Bilbo asked. “Yes. We occasionally get an elf from Mirkwood, or the passing dwarf looking to buy or sell something.”

 

“What’s that?” Merry asked, pointing towards the mountain. Or rather a bit short of the mountain. Bilbo followed Merry’s little finger to see another city. Or rather what was left of it.

 

Tall towers that crumbled, walls that fell, roofs that broke. Not a blade of grass could be seen, the barren land grey-black and unsettling.  There was something heart-wrenching to it.

 

“That, Young Merry,” Bard said steering his barge, “is the ruins of Dale.”

 

“Wha’ happen’d?” Merry asked, his voice growing smaller.

 

Bard’s face grew grimmer.

 

 “It was once the greatest city of Men in these parts. Rich from trade among the dwarves and elves as well as other Mannish cities. But nothing was the same here after the last dwarf king found that accursed stone.” The man said.

 

The barge stopped, and Bard hopped off to tie it to a dock. “What happened then?” Bilbo asked. “Nothing good, Miss Baggins. That’s all I’ll say.” Bard said, before helping the three off.

 

They followed Bard up some rickety walkways, up to a tilting house. Bard opened the door.

 

A young lady in layered skirts, with mousy brown hair tied back rushed over. “Father!” She exclaimed. “I was so worried!” She gave her father a hug.

 

Two more pairs of footsteps followed. “Da!” Two voices called. The next one to hug their father was a young lad who was a few years shy of his coming of age if Bilbo had to guess. Then a sweet little girl who stood as tall as Bilbo, but seemed only a few years older than Merry.

 

“Da.” The lad said. “Who’re they?” He asked, looking right at Bilbo and his boys.

 

“Will they bring us luck?” The little girl asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Merry is eight years old.
> 
> Kudugin- plural of Kuduk (the hobbity word for hobbits)


	4. Two Stories, and Two Dwarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and the boys spend the night in Laketown, and meet two dwarves on their way to Erebor.

Bilbo was highly amused.

 

Bard held his dark haired head in his hands as he sat at the old wooden table. His two daughters were gushing over Merry and Pippin, while his son kept staring intensely at Bilbo.

 

The eldest one was cooing over Pippin, and petting his almost blonde curls. The youngest girl was poking and prodding Merry which made the faunt break out in giggles, with two rag dolls in her arms.

 

“Sigrid, Tilda, please leave Miss Baggins’s children be.” Bard said in an embarrassed tone. “Oh, it’s alright Master Bard.” Bilbo said with a giggle. “They don’t mind at all.”

 

“Still, you’re our guests.” Bard protested, finally showing his mustached face. “And they’re children who could do with playing with yours.” Bilbo replied.

 

Then a look of recognition flitted over Bard’s face. “Ah, I should introduce my family.”

 

Bard motioned to the eldest girl, with her hair tied back, and wringing her hands around a layer of her dress. “This is Sigrid, my eldest.”

 

Then he motioned to the lad with messy hair, and clothes that were a bit larger so he could grow into them still. “This is my son, Bain.”

 

Then he motioned to the young girl with her bright smile, long braid, and a rag doll in her grasp. “And this is little Tilda.”

 

Bard looked at each of his children with the same look of love and fatherly pride. Bilbo could tell how much he loved his family, and it brought a smile to the hobbit’s face.

 

“Mama Bilba! Mama Bilba!” Merry crowed. “Can I play wit’ Tildy?”

 

“Of course. But make sure you play nice.” Bilbo replied with a soft smile.

 

With a beaming smile Tilda gave Merry a rag doll, and the two were pretending that the dolls went off to a party at the edge of the old rug. Bilbo smiled at their playing when Merry’s doll was teaching Tilda’s a hobbit reel dance.

 

“Most boys I’ve known would rather play with wooden swords than dolls.” Bain said, shifting awkwardly on his booted feet.

 

Bilbo’s smile dropped. “Well, I honestly don’t care what toy he plays with, as long as he’s safe.” Was Bilbo’s reply. “And as long as he’s happy.”

 

Bard nodded sagely. “I know how you feel Miss Baggins.”  He said with a warm glance at his three children.

 

“Please, Bilbo or Bilba is fine, Master Bard.” Bilbo replied politely. “Alright Bilba. But only if I am called Bard.” The man replied.

 

“Well met Bard.” Bilbo gave the man a cheeky smile that all Tookish hobbits inherited.

 

Bilbo took Pippin back from Sigrid so she could serve soup and bread to all of them. Bilbo insisted on helping, but Sigrid was stubborn and insisted that as a guest, Bilbo just relax. So Bilbo did with only a slight huff, and a small pout.

 

Dinner was good, and this was the first time the hobbits had ever eaten fish, let alone in a soup. Bilbo found that it wasn’t bad, and Merry would eat just about anything if it didn’t smell foul, so the hobbits cleaned their bowls. Even Pippin who got a mush of bread with soup broth.

 

They all talked among each other, but Bilbo ended up having to talk the most. Not surprising given the curiosity of their hosts.

 

Bilbo talked to Bard about Shire life (what he could say in front of children anyway), their journey so far and about their plans to go to Erebor.

 

Sigrid was curious about hobbit food, parties and families, and she-hobbits.

 

The entire Mannish family was shocked at hearing that hobbits ate seven times a day. (“But you’re so small! Where do you put it?”)

 

Bain was curious about the bounders, so Bilbo went into a length mention of Cousin Paladin, Pippin’s father and the work he used to do.

 

Bain, Tilda and Merry managed to ~~beg~~ convince Bilbo to tell a story before they all went to sleep. So Bilbo wracked thoughts around until remembering a story that Uncle Isengrim told before.

 

As the fire crackled, and the air was silent save for the lapping of the lake waters, Bilbo began an old tale.

 

* * *

 

_Long, long ago, in an age we know not in living memory, there was a gardener. She was kind to all the living creatures, and tended to the trees over head as well as the little flowers underfoot._

_Once day she walked among her friendly trees, and saw something that saddened her greatly. A tall, old apple tree she used to sing with was cut down. She wept for the tree._

_The shepherd trees talked, and talked but she would not join. She wept through the night. The next morning, she walked sadly to the tree stump, her tears dropping. But upon the tree stump was something she had not seen there before._

_Laying atop the stump was a bracelet. It had a stone the color and shape of a ripe red apple, encased in a metal that shined like sunlight._

_She didn’t weep anymore, and smiled at the gift._

 

_The next day she walked with the sprites who loved to play children’s games. But she stopped walking and she began to weep. Little blossoms she played with were crushed._

_The fair folk played, and played, but she would not join. She wept through the night. The next morning, she sadly walked to the flower patch, her tears dropping. But upon the broken petals and stems was something that she had not seen before._

_Laying atop the crushed flowers was a necklace. It had three stones the color and shape of white gardenias, encased in a metal that shined like moonlight._

_She didn’t weep anymore, and smiled at the gift._

_The next day she walked with the wee folk who sought peace and comfort in simple things. But on the forest floor she stopped and began to weep. The leaves she danced with were burnt and trodden over. The wee folk danced and danced but she would not join. She wept through the night._

_On the next morning she walked to where the leaves lay, her tears still falling. But instead of a gift, someone stood among the trodden leaves._

_“Who are you?” The gardener asked._

_The person stood tall, and proudly. “I am the smith.” Said he. “I am the smith who made the bracelet and necklace.”_

_“Oh.” She said. “They’re beautiful. You are truly a masterful smith.”_

_“I made those for you. As well as this.” He said, moving something from behind his back._

_He held out a circlet crown, made with nine stones the colors and shapes of leaves, encased in metal that shined like starlight._

_“It’s beautiful.” She said. “But why would you make these for me?”_

_The smith looked down at his feet, but he still held the circlet out. “I was the one who cut down your tree, stepped on your flowers, and dropped embers on the leaves.” He said._

_She began to cry more. “Why would you do that?” She asked._

_“I cut down the tree to have enough wood to start a need-fire. But I saw how sad that made you, so I made you the bracelet.”_

_“Why did you step on my flowers?” She asked._

_“I wished to see that you accepted my gift, but wished not to be seen. I stepped on them as I hid from your sight.” The smith replied. “So I made the necklace so you would smile once more.”_

_“Why did you drop embers on my leaves?” She asked._

 

_I was working through the night, and rushed to give you your gift. I forgot to dust the embers off of me, and it dropped on the leaves.” The smith answered.  “So I made the circlet to make you smile again.”_

_“Why are you here?” She asked. “When you wished to not been seen by me?”_

_“I’m here before you now, because I wish to say that I love you.” The smith said as he stepped towards the gardener. “I have seen you here many times, and I have fallen for you, my Green Lady.”_

_With those words he placed the circlet upon her head. He turned to leave but before he took his first step, something was placed upon his brow._

_He held it in his hands and was shocked. He held a circlet crown of branches, flowers and leaves. He turned back to the gardener, and saw her smiling at him. “A gift from me to you, my Ever Skilled Smith.” She said._

_From that point on, the Green Lady grew to love the Ever Skilled Smith, and one day they were married to the sound of trees talking, the laughter fair folk playing and to the wee folk singing and dancing._

 

* * *

 

The next morning Bilbo and the boys set off towards the mountain before dawn began to creep into the sky. Bilbo had just fixed the pack to his back and was gathering a yawning Pippin in his arms when Bard’s voice called out “Miss Baggins!”

 

Bilbo turned and saw the man in his barge. “Care for a lift up towards the mountain?” Bard asked.

 

“Really?” Merry asked with a tired smile.

 

Bard nodded. “It’ll get you three towards the mountain faster than just walking.”

 

Without another word, the three hobbits were lifted into the barge, and the four were off towards Erebor.

 

It was quiet considering how few people there were up before the crack of dawn. Bilbo nudged Merry and Pippin in a more awake state and pointed east. “Look.” Bilbo whispered.

 

Dawn rose. The sun turned the dark blue night into shades of pink, orange and red. “Pretty.” Merry murmured.

Bard was silent as he guided the barge up the river. A small thrush flew by and landed next to the bargeman’s hands. It tweeted and cooed, causing a small smile to break out on the man’s face.

 

But Bard’s face grew grim, and the thrush flew away. Bilbo looked ahead. It was the barren ruins of Dale.

 

Bard’s eyes grew hard as he looked at the crumbling buildings. Merry and Pippin fell asleep again, so Bilbo left them in a little nest he made out of his cloak. The hobbit stood up and walked near Bard.

 

“Bard.” Bilbo called.

 

Bard made eye contact, but remained silent.

 

“Can you tell me what happened to Dale?” Bilbo asked, determined to learn the reason for Bard’s grimness.

 

Bard looked and saw that the two children were fast asleep. He gave a heavy sigh before looking back at Bilbo.

 

“Many years ago, Dale was the most prosperous of Men here in the east. Dale was allied with the elves of Mirkwood, known then as Greenwood, and Erebor.” Bard said. “But things changed when the last dwarf king found his accursed gem.”

 

“What happened?” Bilbo asked.

 

“The gem drove the dwarf king into a greedy madness. The dwarf king broke his alliance with the elves, or so it was said by my grandfather. And trade stopped with Dale. Dale fell into a harsh depression, and many fled to Laketown.”

 

“But the royal family tried to keep their city safe, but a group of rival families kept thwarting their plans. One day Girion the last King of Dale brought safety to his people by stopping an invasion upon the weakened city. And everyone thought Dale would grow prosperous once more.”

 

“I’m sensing an unhappy turn of events.” Bilbo said. Bard nodded.

 

“King Girion was assassinated by rivals to the throne. When Girion was killed, his family vanished from all records, and the rival family ruled Dale. But since Girion’s demise, famine broke out. The trees used for timber and fires did not grow back, and horrible accidents and deaths befell the new royals and their court. Eventually everyone in Dale fled to Laketown.”

 

“From that day forth, they say Dale is cursed by the murder of Girion, and none shall restore Dale until his curse is lifted.”

 

Bilbo was silent, casting tearful glances at the broken land of what used to be a home to many.

Bard eventually pulled up to a bank several yards away from the mountain base. “I will not go to the mountain, but this is as close as I can get you.” The bargeman said, helping the three to the rocky shore.

 

“Thank you very much.” Bilbo said earnestly. Bard nodded. “Should you have any trouble my home is open to three hobbits.” He replied before casting off, and heading back down the river. Bilbo watched him, until he was no longer in view.

 

Bilbo marched up the mountain, with Pippin on one hip, Merry’s hand in his, and the brass pendant hanging around his small neck and over his shirt. They were within sight of the mountain gates.

 

They walked on until a loud guttural scream came from their right. Out of a bush came a screaming dwarf. Bilbo Pulled Merry behind him and hid Pippin as the dwarf screamed and waved his, Bilbo thought it was a he anyway, arms.

 

The dwarf stopped when Pippin began to whimper loudly, staring intently at the three.

 

The dwarf stood taller than Bilbo. The dwarf’s hair was black but had many streaks of white that were braided in his beard. But the most eye catching thing about the dwarf was that the dwarf had an axe imbedded in his head.

 

“Bifur!” Another voice called, and another dwarf walked through the bushes. This dwarf was also the same height, with brown hair in twin braids and a long mustache and goatee. Bilbo managed to notice the resemblance between the two when he could look away from the second dwarf’s hat which seemed to defy gravity.

 

“Ah, good mornin’.” The second dwarf greeted with a cheery smile. “Good morning.” Bilbo managed.

 

“Sorry if my cousin gave you a scare, he means well.” The first dwarf was staring intently between the three before growling something to the second dwarf.

 

“Right, where are my manners?” The second dwarf exclaimed. “Bofur son of Bour, at your service.” The second dwarf, Bofur said with a bow.

 

“This is my eldest cousin, Bifur son of Baldur.” Bifur bowed low and growled something again.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family’s.” Bilbo returned. “This is my ward, Merriadoc Brandybuck, and his young cousin Peregrin Took.” Merry waved at the two, and Pippin cooed around his little thumb.

 

“My cousin can’t speak Westron anymore, but he was wondering what hobbits are doing here.” Bofur translated.

 

Bilbo was shocked. “You know of hobbits?” He asked.

 

Bofur nodded. “O’ course. My family and I came from the Blue mountains, and I’ve met with hobbits for trade before that bush went up.” Bofur gave a sympathetic look to Bilbo at the last bit.

So Bilbo went into a brief explanation of their escape, and their journey up to that point. Bofur shared a look with Bifur.

 

“May I see this pendant Master Hobbit?” Bofur asked. Bilbo reluctantly held the end of the pendant out for the two to look at.

 

“By Durin!” Bofur exclaimed. “Mama Bilba what’s a Durin?” Merry asked. Merry’s question got the two dwarves squawking.

 

“I’ll tell you later, but I know the mark on your pendant!” Bofur shouted happily. “You do?” Bilbo asked. Bofur nodded and held one side of the coin to Bilbo.

 

It showed a chisel and a pickaxe forming an ‘x’, and cutting through the ‘x’ was an arrow.

 

“This is our family’s herald.” Bofur explained, motioning to Bifur and him with a gloved hand. “Your family?” Bilbo asked, shocked.

 

“Aye. Which means your coming with us as family friends.” Bofur explained. “I wouldn’t want to impose.” Bilbo said nervously.

 

“It’s no trouble. And that mark means that our family is honor bound to help you.” Bofur explained.

 

“What’s your family like?” Merry asked gazing between the two dwarves.

 

“We don’t have riches in gold, but we’re an honest working family that looks out for each other.” Bofur said, crouching down to be eye level with Merry. “And I know my brother and his wife would love to meet you three.” Bofur grinned again.

 

Bilbo was standing there, weighing decisions in his head, before finally saying. “If it’s no trouble.”

 

Bofur clapped Bilbo on the shoulder with a laugh, nearly causing Bilbo to fall face first. _You’re not in Hobbiton anymore, Bilba…_ He thought to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

“Wha’ s tha’?”  “That’s a goat.”

 

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to disbelieve more. The fact that they were finally going to the Lonely Mountain, or that Merry was asking every question that was possible to ask. But Bofur being the smiling, friendly dwarf that he is, humors Merry, and answers every question.

 

Bifur was a gentle dwarf when you get past the axe and whatever damage it did to him. He made sure the hobbits were safe from stray goats and the occasional dandelion weed. Bofur was the only one shocked when Bifur ate said dandelion, they’re eaten when available back in the Shire.

 

The five walked up to the entrance of Erebor. Bilbo and Merry stopped to look, mouths open. The gates were unimaginably high towering slabs of stone, decorated with geometric patterns and shining metal inlays. On either side of the monstrous gates were two huge statues of bearded dwarves, armored and kneeling with an axe in their grasps.

 

“Gatekeepers.” Bilbo whispered softly.

 

“Impressive?” Bofur asked with a knowing smile. Bilbo nodded, mute.

 

“Me, my brother and cousin reacted the same when we first came here. Far grander than anything the Blue Mountains had.”  Bofur replied.

 

“Your family is from the Blue Mountains?” Bilbo asked curiously. He knew that that was the closest dwarven settlement to the Shire, and that they did send help years ago when the Thicket came up.

 

“Me brother, cousin and I.” Bofur said. “My sister-in-law is also not of Erebor. She’s a Blacklock dwarf from the Orocani.”

 

“Blacklock?” Merry asked.

 

“It’s a clan name. My family is part of the Broadbeam clan. Like how you are part of the Baggins clan, Brandybuck clan and Took clan.”

 

Bilbo and Merry made the same understanding “ooh” sound at that.

 

Bifur began making lots of gestures with his hands and grunts. “Ah, right you are Bifur.” Bofur said. The hatted dwarf turned to the hobbits. “We should be getting inside. In an hour the marketplace will open and cause all sorts of crowds.”

 

Bilbo pulled a face at the word crowds. He didn’t like extended family dinners back in the Shire, he had a feeling he’d like a crowded mountain of dwarves even less.

 

Bilbo and the boys walked in after Bofur, and were followed by Bifur. That made Bilbo feel better considering that many of the bridges and walkways didn’t have handrails, and that Merry wanted to look at everything. Not that Bilbo could blame the lad, his own eyes wandered to all the new sights around them.

 

The ceiling was incredibly high, and made of dark green stone, with little root-like lines of bright metal shining through. There were some lantern lighting an area that even the hobbits could recognize as market stalls. And to Bilbo’s shock it looked like there were layers of markets on various open faced levels.

 

Bilbo could also make note that the dwarves seen were all pale. _Must be from living inside a mountain._

 

They passed by another pale dwarf with a big brown beard, and a deep red dress.

 

“Was tha’ a lady dwarf, Mama Bilba?” Merry whispered, as the dwarf in question walked off with a stack of books in their hands. Bilbo had no idea considering the only facial hair the hobbit had ever seen were Old Took’s mutton chops.

 

“This way, Master Hobbits.” Bofur called in a friendly reminder. The hatted dwarf led them down a few levels, deeper into the mountain. Bilbo felt unsettled by the lack of sunlight, and felt Merry huddle closer.

 

There were several shapes in the rocks that Bilbo managed to work out as house fronts. Bofur led them down a row to a house that seemed to be made of various stones that made the house seem as mismatched as Lobelia’s birthday quilt to Merry.

 

Bofur knocked and opened the door with a heavy creak. “Bombur!” Bofur called out. “We’re back, and we have guests!”

 

There was a heavy thudding and a very round dwarf with a bright red beard wrapped around their front like a chain walked in.

 

“Bofur!” The large dwarf said with a jolly grin before squeezing the the two dwarves in hugs.

 

“Bombur, these our our guests.” Bofur said casually waving at the hobbits. “Bilbo Baggins, Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took, this is my brother Bombur.”

 

“Nice to meet you.” Bilbo replied as he adjusted Pippin’s body against his hip. Bilbo could see the family resemblance in this dwarf as well. “Hi.” Merry said with a wave.

 

“Bombur, at your service.” The fat dwarf replied with a smile and a bow. “Never thought I’d see hobbits inside a mountain.” Bombur said.

 

“Never thought I’d see a mountain until now.” Bilbo returned with a smile.

 

Bombur led them to a table where he got a kettle going for tea.

 

“My wife and our bairn are out at the markets.” Bombur said as he filled a cast iron kettle with water.

 

“But the markets weren’t open yet.” Bilbo stated in confusion.

 

Bombur nodded as he put the kettle over the fire. “She insists on getting there early to beat the crowds.” The rotund dwarf explained. Bilbo nodded.

 

“If you don’t mind, why are you three here?” Bombur asked. “As far as I knew, hobbits rarely left their stomping grounds.”

 

 Bofur, Bilbo and Merry were telling Bombur about the hobbits coming to Erebor. Bombur fetched the kettle and distributed mugs of tea to the lot with a thoughtful expression.

 

“Master Baggins, may I see this pendant?” Bombur asked. Bilbo handed the coin to the dwarf.

 

Bombur flipped the coin over several times, giving each side a good long stare. “This is our family herald, no doubt.” Then Bombur flipped the coin over. “And this looks like a personal maker’s mark by a relative of ours.”

 

“Is that what that other design is?” Bilbo asked.

 

Bombur nodded. “We haven’t seen him though for about eighty years.”

 

“Really?” Bilbo asked in shock. “Eighty years?”

 

Bombur nodded somberly and gave a sigh. “We knew he moved here to Erebor, but we haven’t been able to find him here.”

 

**“** **Gabil nitir!”** Bifur growled and held his mug up over his axe-riddled head before chugging the hot drink.

 

Bofur and Bombur laughed. Bilbo shared a confused look and shrug with Merry. Dwarves were different, that’s what they said to each other. So Bilbo went through the pack and handed Merry an oat cake from Beorn as first breakfast.

 

“If you don’t mind me askin’ Master Baggins.” Bofur said, reclining in a wooden chair. “How was it that you came to possess this?” The hatted dwarf held up the pendant before handing it over to Bilbo.

 

“Well it’s been in the family for decades.” Bilbo said. “It originally was my Aunt Hildigard’s but after she died, my Uncle Isengrim, her brother, took possession of it. Before my mother died a few years back he gave it to me, said that if I should ever need a safe place to take that with me to the Lonely Mountain.” 

 

It was solemn and silent.

 

Then there was the sound of the heavy door opening, and the sound of boots clomping inside. Merry stood straighter and turned in his seat like a bunny that heard something in the woods.

 

Then in came another dwarf, with a little hatted bundle strapped to their ample chest, and a basket laden with food.

 

Bombur got up and practically skipped with a smitten expression on his face. **“Sanûrzud.”** He cooed as he gave the dwarf a kiss. Bombur’s wife, Bilbo deduced.

 

Bilbo knew next to nothing about dwarves, but he could tell that Bombur’s wife was not from Erebor, or the Blue Mountains.

 

She had long, straight black hair braided with ornate beads. Her sienna colored face was broader, with pronounced cheekbones, even past the full beard on her strong jaw.

 

She took one look at the hobbits with dark, angled eyes before turning towards her husband and speaking what Bilbo could only guess was dwarvish as Bombur took the groceries to the kitchen. Bofur and Bifur pipped in so now Bilbo had no idea what was going on.

 

Merry clambered over so that he rested his face right next to Bilbo’s. _“Wha’s goin’ on, Mama Bilba?”_ Merry whispered in Greenspeech. _“I think she’s being told about us.”_ Bilbo whispered back.  “Oh.” Cooed Merry.

 

Then the Bombur’s wife walked over towards Bilbo. Bilbo stood, holding Pippin and Merry dangling around the neck. She gave a kind smile with a look in her eyes that Bilbo remembered from a childhood that seemed so far away.

 

She said something that Bilbo couldn’t make sense of. Bofur, all cheery smiles stood up and patted Bilbo’s free shoulder.

 

“This is Dalla, Bombur’s wife.” Bofur introduced. Dalla moved the baby out of the carrier and held the child in her arms. Bilbo could see that the child had sienna skin that was lighter than their mother’s and reddish brown hair that poked through the knit cap.

 

“And this little bundle.” Bofur said with an even happier grin, motioning towards the babe. “This is their daughter Halla.”

 

Halla gave a little yawn and blinked at them, causing Dalla to coo and rock her gently. Bilbo smiled. “Bombur is a lucky dwarf to have a kind wife and a sweet little girl.” Bilbo said.  Bofur replied to Dalla. Whatever he said made her turn red and giggle into her beard.

 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the hatted dwarf. “Just translatin’.” The dwarf said. Bilbo was tempted to swat at him, but he didn’t because he was holding Pippin.

 

Bofur translated the introductions between them, and Merry was as curious as ever.

 

Bilbo sniffed and there was the smell of –-

 

“Bacon!” Merry cried happily, dropping down from Bilbo to follow the smell like one of Farmer Maggot’s old hounds.

 

Bilbo gave a slightly exasperated laugh as Bombur announced that breakfast (second breakfast he should mean) was on. 

Bombur cooked a good second breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and ham were at one end. Bread, butter and two kinds of jam. There were some delicious cakes as well as hearty oatmeal for the two babies. And everyone had a hearty mug of coffee, tea, or milk in the children's case. Bilbo did make note of a lack of fruits or vegetables, but said nothing of it.

 

One thing Bilbo was sure of was that if Bungo Baggins was still alive, the hobbit would have a conniption fit. Dwarven meal etiquette was a far cry from the rigidly polite Baggins ones. There was loud laughter and talking, food being thrown at each other as a form of play and sharing, and Bilbo wasn’t sure whether to laugh, or be appalled.

 

“Bombur!” Bofur said tossing a boiled egg across the table. Said egg which landed right in Bombur’s gaping mouth, causing the other dwarves to cheer, even baby Halla was giggling. 

 

Yup, Bungo Baggins must be rolling in his grave.

 

“By the way Bilbo.” Bofur said as Bifur began collecting dishes to the sink. “Hmm?”

 

“What are you going to do now that you three are in Erebor?” Bofur asked sincerely. Bilbo’s eye’s widened. Bother and bugger…

 

“I’m sure I can figure something out.” Bilbo murmured. Bofur pulled a face.

 

“Bilbo, what was life like for you three in the Shire?” The hatted dwarf asked. Bilbo winced as Merry stopped mid forkful. Bilbo distracted Merry with a slice of sloe cake.

 

 “What about jobs?” Bofur asked. “How do you earn coin?”

 

Bilbo raised his eyebrow. “What good are coins?”

 

The three male dwarves stared at Bilbo in shock. “You mean hobbits don’t use coins anymore?” Bofur spluttered.

 

“Well why would we?” Bilbo asked. “They can’t feed you. It won’t keep you warm at night. We just trade and barter things that we need. The only coin I ever used is that necklace.” The hobbit pointed at the necklace with a single, small finger.

 

Bofur and Bombur shared a look.

 

“Well in Erebor” Bombur began “you need coins to get anywhere, and get anything really.”

 

“Most dwarves work for their coin.” Bofur explained. “I’m a gem miner. So I mine gems, and get coins for the gems I find.”

 

“I’m head cook at a tavern. So I get paid to cook food for tavern customers.” Bombur said. “And Cousin Bifur used to be a master woodcarver, but nowadays he’s a toymaker.”

 

 

Bilbo ran a small hand over hazel eyes. “One step forward, and two steps back.” The hobbit murmured.

 

“Plus any inns here in this part of the city would end with you robbed or killed overnight.” Bofur added. Merry began to tear up, and Dalla walloped Bofur upside the head, knocking the hat askew.

 

“What?” Bofur asked, looking at Dalla who was giving a near teary Merry another jammed toast.

 

“Ignore that.” Bombur hastily said to Bilbo, waving his hands fervently trying to placate.

 

Bifur popped his head in, axe and beard covered in bubbles. He said something that made the others share looks and talk quickly in dwarvish. Bilbo was quickly not liking this lack of knowing what’s being said.

 

“Well, Master Baggins.” Bofur said, giving another easy smile. “How would you and your boys like to stay here with us?”

 

Bilbo’s mouth swung open. “You’s take us in?” Merry asked with big, hopeful green eyes. Bofur ruffled Merry’s hair.

 

“Our family did say that we’d help you out. And I’m sure this more than qualifies.” The miner said.

 

Bilbo sat there, closed the open jaw, and thought hard. But it wasn’t hard to come to the only feasible solution.

 

“Looks like you have some new tenants Master Bofur.” Bilbo said, giving an awkward smile, extending a hand.

 

Bofur grinned and shook the extended hand. “Jus’ Bofur.” The dwarf said. “None o’ that Master or Mistress stuff ‘round here.”

 

“Then I’m either Bilba or Bilbo.” Bilbo remarked.

 

Dalla said something. “Welcome to our home Bilbo, Merry, and Pippin.” Bombur translated.

 

And Bilbo couldn’t help but smile. Looks like the worst was finally behind them.

 

* * *

 

_He was in Erebor. But he was out on the rampart before the gates. He wasn’t wearing heavy, rich robes or elaborate braids. He was in his well worn forging clothes, his long black hair loose, save for two little braids._

_He looked out past the rampart. Dale was not in ruin, but lively with the bustling of good hearted men, and children laughing and playing games far below._

_He turned to his side and smiled. There was someone standing next to him._

_This person was about a foot shorter than him. They wore colorful layers of cloth that formed a robe that fell to the floor. And covering their head was an embroidered brocade wrapped like a blanket that hid their face in shadows._

_But he smiled and enveloped this person in a gentle hug, smiling._

_“I’ve missed you, **ghivashel.”** He said, holding the other at a very small distance. The covered head tilted, and--_

 

“THORIN!”

 

Crown Prince Thorin Oakenshield bolted upright from his overly large bed.

 

Thorin was tired and all yesterday meetings with pompous lords drained whatever energy he had. So despite the fact that everyone else in Erebor was wide awake, all he wanted to do was sleep.

 

He groaned and glared at the cause of his premature awakening. It was Frerin.

 

The blonde younger brother was a disheveled mess, clothes askew and hair unkempt.

“What?” Thorin growled, rubbing the sleep out of his blue eyes with a calloused hand.

 

“It happened again.” Frerin said shakily. Thorin went rigid. He looked up at Frerin in disbelief.

 

“Again?” Thorin asked. “Now?” Frerin nodded, face twisted in concern and despair.

 

Thorin flew out of his bedcovers and hurried into a decent pair of trousers, tunic and hurried his iron capped boots on. He bolted out the door and followed his brother down the corridors to the outer ring of the capital floor. They were about to turn a corner when several bustling dwarves cut them off.

 

They were wearing the uniform of the healers’ guild, and they were carrying stretchers. One dwarf had their face covered in blood, bits of sharp rock sticking out of their flesh, and an arm that was twisted and mangled beyond recognition of the limb.

 

“I want my husband…” The dwarf groaned weakly, trying to raise the mangled limb.

Another dwarf being carried was missing a leg from the knee down, a bloody bandaged stump, and bloody bandages wrapped around their entire face. “Mahal, just kill me! Please, just kill me now!” The dwarf screamed.

 

Several more were carried in with horrific injuries, but most were carried in with a shroud over their bloody corpses.

 

Thorin grasped at his brother’s shoulder, disbelieving what he was seeing. “Uncle!” A pair of voices called from behind them. The two turned. Running towards them were the familiar heads of Fili and Kili.

 

The two stopped short of the older royals. “Where’s **Adad**?” Fili asked, shifting his eyes between his two uncles. “He’s not here?” Frerin asked.

 

Kili shook his mussed head. “ **Amad** said he went to the mines this morning.” The younger lad said, fear clouding his dark eyes.

 

“Oin’s hospital.” Thorin said before anyone fell to panic. “Now.”

 

The four bolted as fast as they could to their destination. And they began regretting it.

 

The healer’s hall was housing many screaming, bleeding, and mutilated dwarves. Some were being covered in a funeral shroud while healers worked hard to keep them alive. And heavy murmured prayers were chanted left and right, drumming in their ears.

 

Thorin scanned his eyes over the carnage and eventually spotted a familiar head. “VILI!” He bellowed.

 

A bandaged dwarf walked over towards them, but was stopped by Fili and Kili, who enveloped him in a hug.

 

Fili and Kili inherited different parts of their father, which was obvious if the three stood by each other.

 

Vili was tall (not nearly as tall as Thorin), and less stocky than the average dwarf. Dark eyed with the same facial features as his youngest, but the same blonde hair and frame as his eldest.

 

Thorin couldn’t help but be relieved. Fili and Kili led their father out of the healing hall, and to a more secluded corridor.

 

“I’m fine boys.” Vili said, mussing the blonde and brunet heads of his clingy sons. Frerin gave Vili a brotherly forehead bunt whereas Thorin leaned against a wall and let out a breath.

 

He never got along with Vili, even after he married his little sister. And he was glad he was alive after Anazulbizar for the sake of his brother, sister and her sons.

 

 Frerin and Vili didn’t get along either, until they fought together in Azanulbizar and Vili nearly got killed saving Frerin. Thorin would forever be grateful, but he could at best tolerate his brother-in-law now. The two mixed like oil and water more often than not. 

 

Vili grinned and reassured them all that he was fine. “Why don’t you two go back to your mother, and tell her I’m on my way back.” He said, giving each son a soft bunt on the forehead. The two nodded before running back towards the palace complex.

 

“What happened?” Thorin asked when his nephews were out of sight. Vili’s braided mustache drooped along with his smile. “The mine collapsed. Mine 216.”

 

Thorin looked at him in surprise. “That can’t be.” He said. “That mine was cleared and made stable last month.”

 

“And it was. For a while.” Vili said, shifting a bandaged arm with a wince.

 

“What happened?” Frerin asked.

 

“At first everything was fine.” VIli recounted. “The miners up ahead made more progress, and we were all sure we struck a line of emeralds. But before we found anything, there was knocking coming from the far end of the mine shaft. And then the whole thing collapsed.”

 

“Who was knocking?” Thorin asked. “Dunno.” Vili said, face twisted with concern and acute pain. “Some of the survivors said the knocking came from the other side of the rock.”

 

Thorin was more confused and concerned than he was before.

 

What was going on here?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:
> 
> gabil nitir- great fire-starter
> 
> Sanurzud- perfect sun
> 
> ghivashel- treasure of treasures
> 
> Adad- Father
> 
> Amad- Mother
> 
> Green Speech: hobbit language


	6. A Dragon, Unemployment, and A House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how the dwarves of Erebor treat the hobbits, and what's happening back at Laketown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a question about Fili and Kili's ages, so I decided to give a breakdown on the ages of several characters. I did mess about the ages a bit, fair warning (it's in the mess of tags). 
> 
> Fili- 70 which makes him just of adult age, basically he's around 17 or 18  
> Kili- 65, so roughly 15 or 16 (and the only royal of Erebor that's still under aged)  
> I made them a bit clingy with their dad in the last chapter, because I think no matter what age, if you're relieved that a loved one is alive, you'll be a bit clingy.   
> Thorin- 187 so middle aged in Mannish years I guess   
> Merry - 8 (I know I used six before,but I changed it) but about 3 or 4 in human reckoning  
> Pippin- roughly one. He's a baby, through and through  
> Bilbo- 38, so mid twenties as a comparitive

Merry was having a good day. Mama Bilba, Pippin and him were still staying with the dwarves, but they were nice dwarves.

 

Mister Bombur made a big first breakfast with some eggs, toast, and salty ham. After first breakfast Mister Bofur left to go work. Merry was confused why Mister Bofur needed to go dig up rocks, but he was told that they were really pretty rocks so he supposed it was a good job then.

 

Merry really liked Missus Dalla. Missus Dalla was nice and gave Merry lots of snacks for second breakfast, even if she talked funny. Mama Bilba said that she only knows dwarf-speech, so Merry doesn’t mind.

 

Missus Dalla was cooing over Pippin and Halla, because they were both babies and someone needs to coo over them. After Pippin and Halla were playing together on top of some pillows, Mama Bilba said that Mama Bilba would leave with Mister Bombur.

 

Merry started to sniffle, and looked down at his toes. Mama Bilba pulled him into a hug. “Oh, Merry, I’m just going out to do a couple boring grown up things. I’ll be right back as soon as it’s done.” Mama Bilba reassured the faunt.

 

“But what if you don’t?” Merry asked, tears welling in his big green eyes. “What if you don’t come back?”

 

Mama Bilba kneeled down and looked Merry straight in the eye. “I promise that I’ll always come back Merry.” Mama Bilba said seriously. “Even if I have to deal with a dragon, and an army of monsters.” Mama Bilba promised with a kiss on the forehead. Merry eventually nodded, and wiped at his teas furiously.

 

“Now you be a good lad Merry.” Mama Bilba said with a warm smile. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

“Okay.” Merry said. Mama Bilba gave him another hug before leaving with Mister Bombur.

 

Missus Dalla gave Merry a jam sandwich as second breakfast and patted his cheek with a smile, before checking on Pippin and Halla. Merry was quietly wondering if all dwarves have face hair and boots when Mister Bifur walked over to him.

 

Merry swallowed a mouthful when Mister Bifur held something out. It was unpainted wood, and it was shaped like a dragon from Uncle Isengrim’s book! Bifur extended it to Merry, who took it eagerly.

 

“Thank you Mister Bifur.” Merry said happily. The faunt giggled when he discovered that playing with the tail made the wings flap.

 

“Roar!” Merry said, raising his new toy high. “I am fire! I am a dragon!”

 

**“Uslukh.”** Mister Bifur said, pointing at the toy. “Dragon.” Merry said. **“Uslukh.”** Bifur repeated.

 

“Dragon.”

 

**“Uslukh.”**

 Dragon.”

 

  **“Uslukh.”**

 

Merry looked at the toy and then back at Mister Bifur. “Oo-sloo-ck.” Merry said.

 

**“Uslukh.”** Bifur repeated, grinning widely. “Oo-sloo-ck.” Merry tried again. **“Uslukh.”**

 

Bifur cheered and patted Merry’s hair wildly. **“Uslukh!”** Merry cheered as he made ran around to make the dragon fly.

 

**“Uslukh!”** Merry pretended to roar. “I am fire! I am death! ROAR!”

* * *

 

“It’ll be okay Bilbo.” Bombur said reassuringly, patting the hobbit’s slumped shoulder. Bilbo sighed.

 

“Thank you Bombur.” Bilbo said with a slightly strained smile. The red-headed dwarf and the curly haired hobbit walked out of the building and headed for the many-leveled market.

 

“Truth be told I don’t think you’d be happy being a healer at that particular clinic.” Bombur added. Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Why ever not?” The hobbit asked.

 

Bombur’s round face grew a bit stiff. “Well you know how we’re in the lower levels.” The dwarf prompted. Bilbo nodded.

 

“Well down at our level, a lot the healers are just morons in for a hefty bit of coin.” Bombur said, leading the hobbit down a flight of smooth stone stairs. “Most miners and workers don’t have enough to afford a healer unless it’s life threatening. And most of the healers here are a bit dodgy.”

 

“That makes no sense.” Bilbo interrupted. “All the barber-surgeons in the Shire are well trained and very skilled. The only reason anyone doesn’t go to them is when something only needs everyday healings.”

 

Bombur led them down towards a more crowded level via lamp lit stairs. Bombur didn’t want to take the various ropes on the outer part that led down to what Bilbo could only call an abyss, and Bilbo would prefer to keep both fuzzy feet on solid ground thank you very much.

 

“Well here, sad to say, the best healers are employed by the palace, and what clinic you work at sort of depends on your skill level and rank. So us low-borns get the quacks because we can’t afford anything better even in dire times more often than not.” Bombur said, walking the two over towards a market stall laden with various meats.

 

“D’you know we once had a healer who insisted that curing Bifur’s head wound required --” Bombur began exchanging coins for some salted bacon. “Rubbing the bloody wound with the head of an eel, burying that, and then leaving the wound open to ‘give the madness a hole to escape from.’ I say he was the mad one.”

 

Bilbo stared at the dwarf in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

 

Bombur shook his head. “Wish I was. Bugger wanted fifty gold coins for that.” The butcher whistled in surprise.

 

“Now tha’s quackery at it’s fines’.” The scruffy, gruff dwarf said. “One tol’ me Ma to fix her sore throat by wearing a necklace o’ worms for twenty gold.” Bombur sympathized with the dwarf and Bilbo stared at the two in shock.

 

“Honey, and lemon in a tea does a fine job of that! Why worms!?” The hobbit asked, feeling scandalized and rightfully appalled. The butcher looked at the hobbit in surprise.

 

“Do those things really work?” He asked.

 

“Yes.” Bilbo insisted. “That cure’s done my Granmama Ada plenty of good over the years, and I assure you it’s worked well.” Bilbo rubbed a pointed ear at the memory of said grandmother’s bellowing.

 

The scruffy butcher wore a thoughtful expression and then nodded. “I’ll have her try tha’ next time. Thank ye laddie.” The butcher said. “You a healer where you’re from?”

 

“No.” Bilbo explained. “My people just know a lot about plants and their uses. At best I can help with everyday hurts like cuts and bruises, or common ailments.”

 

“Sounds like more of a healer than these quacks we have.” A grey-haired dwarf in a stained brown dress said, as she exchanged some coins for sausage links. “Why aren’t you one?” She asked.

 

“Because the quacks heard ‘No, I’m not a trained healer, but--’ and that was that.” Bombur sighed.  

 

The lady-dwarf patted Bilbo’s arm with a sigh. “Good luck, missy.” She said before going to the stall that sold jams.

 

Bombur gave Bilbo a questioning look, but Bilbo just shrugged, not wanting to talk about _that_ particular matter yet.

 

“Does the mountain need any fletchers?” Bilbo asked, changing the subject quickly. “You make arrows?” Bombur asked.

 

“Well yes. My cousin, Pippin’s father, was an archer. And I’d help make his arrows.” Bilbo explained. “Paladin hardly had the patience to make arrowheads, or to shaft them properly.” The hobbit’s face twistedd with painful reminiscence.

 

“Are you a smith?” Bombur asked keenly. “What? No.”

 

“But you said you made arrowheads.” Bombur countered. “Yes.” Bilbo said as Bombur hefted the groceries, despite Bilbo’s protests that the hobbit can help.

 

“Well you must do some smithing to make arrowheads.” Bombur insisted.

 

“And I don’t.” Bilbo said. “Hobbit arrowheads are made of flint or glass.”

 

“Then I’m afraid your out of luck again.” Bombur sighed. “The only archer here that comes to mind is the Young Prince, and I can’t imagine him using stone or glass. If you could do some metal work, you’d’ve had more opportunities.”

 

Bilbo sighed heavily again and followed Bombur back up the flights of stairs, and would deny to anyone who said that said hobbit pouted.

 

The fat dwarf was carrying the heavy groceries over the open bridge, that still scared Bilbo, while whistling a cheery tune. Bilbo began slowly walking over when a pointed ear picked up on some oddly fast footsteps.

 

Bilbo followed the sound and saw on an adjacent bridge, a dwarf with auburn hair in a ludicrous star shaped updo, being chased by a grisly dwarf that followed with an axe in both hands. The second dwarf was catching up to the first on, bellowing in the dwarves’ harsher tongue. But the moment the second dwarf began to close the gap, and raised their axe, Bilbo instinctively reacted.

 

The axe was raised, but a well aimed stone, threw it off course with a heavy clang. The first dwarf kept running, but turned to see the pursuer splutter and falter, and Bilbo lowering an arm before running after Bombur.

* * *

 

It was late afternoon, but Sigrid had barely gotten any housework done. She was preparing dinner again, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wander. It wandered to if her father was going to be okay, considering how the Master and his lackey hate him. And then it wandered to the three hobbits who spent the night with them.

 

She hoped Miss Baggins is doing well up in the mountain. She was kind to Bain and Tilda, and is so small. But she supposed it’s okay because she supposes that dwarves can’t be that much bigger than a hobbit.

 

She hoped Merry was making friends and was, well, merry. She wished she had a spare toy to give the little boy, remembering how happy he was to play with Tilda.

 

And she hoped baby Pippin was keeping warm and being well fed up in that mountain. If she had been awake, she’s sure she could find something warm for that babe. He was no bigger than a doll, and was an adorable little thing.

 

Actually, now that she thought about it, all three were adorable. Small, with big eyes, pointed ears, and large fuzzy feet. She’s surprised Tilda didn’t ask them to stay the moment she saw them.

 

She wondered what dwarves were like, and if they would treat the hobbits right. Were there only dwarf men like some old fishermen say? Did they all have beards? How do they live underground?

 

She shook her messily bun-ed head, and put the fish stew on the fire. She put the lid on to simmer, and she slumped onto Da’s chair. The whole house was quiet, save for the crackling cooking fire.

 

Da was out on the water. Bain was being taught sailors’ knots by Old Man Percy. Tilda was out playing with some other girls.

 

She sighed forlornly in the empty house, sinking lower in the chair. _Tweet tweet._

Sigrid looked up and at the windowsill was a little thrush. _“Tweet tweet. Cheer Miss, cheer!”_ The little thing chirped. She smiled fondly at the bird.

 

She was about to reply when thudding footsteps scared the bird away. Sigrid jumped to her feet as the door was quickly opened.

 

Her smile instantly changed to a glare as Alfrid Lickspittle swaggered into her home like he owned the bloody place.

 

“Evenin’ Sigrid.” The man leered, showing off his large yellowed teeth. He walked towards her and even though she was a good couple of feet away, she could smell his body odor.

 

“What do you want?” She asked sternly.

 

Alfrid looked around the house with a nasty glimmer in his eyes, pacing a couple feet this way and that.

 

“The Master was wonderin’ ‘bout those strangers you lot brought in a few days ago.” The man sneered with a smile.

 

“Well as you can see they’re not here anymore.” Sigrid replied. “So you lot have nothing to concern yourselves with.”

 

“You know as well as I do that the Master doesn’t take kindly to strangers who enter Laketown without his permission.” The lackey chattered, looking at Sigrid with beady eyes from under his unibrow. “Especially a couple of urchin brats.”

 

“Just say what you want already, and be on your way.” Sigrid said, not bothering to correct the man. Her skin crawled as Alfrid Lickspittle eyed her up and down. She balled her apron in her fists to hold back a shudder.

 

 “Get out of my house.” Bard’s grave voice called from the doorway. The bargeman marched over and shoved the pimply man towards the door.

 

“Not so fast Bard.” Alfrid sneered. “The Master expects a fee for those brats you took in.”

 

Bard glowered at the man, but reached for the coin purse on his belt. He was about to open it when Alfrid snatched the whole bag swiftly. “Have a nice evenin’ Bard.” He replied before quickly running away.

 

Bard slammed the door angrily.“Bastard.” He hissed under his breath.

 

Sigrid hurried over to her father. “We’ll be okay Da.” She said. “We always get by.”

 

Bard’s dark eyes softened and he pulled her into a hug. “I suppose we do, don’t we?” Bard mused.

 

“So, Da, will you tell me how it was today out on the water?” Sigrid asked excitedly, rustling over to the kitchen to get him a drink.

 

“No different than usual, Sigrid.” Bard said as he took his seat in the old wooden chair.

 

She handed him a pint of watered down ale. “I know, but--”

 

At that moment Bain and Tilda came in together, talking loudly and animatedly about something.

 

“Da, you won’t believe what happened with Percy’s net!” “Da! Da! Guess what I found today!”

 

Bain and Tilda took their places at the wooden table and drew their father into new conversations.

 

Sigrid walked around the kitchen and went to check on dinner, silently. As her family talked amongst themselves, she stared out the window that got a glimpse of Dale, and part of the Lonely Mountain.

 

“Wha’s for dinner Sig?” Tilda asked chipperly. Sigrid fixed a smile to her face before answering her sister.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> uslukh- dragon
> 
> \---------------------------  
> For those of you wondering, yes those were actual "medical" treatments from Medieval Europe...I wish I was lying. 
> 
> They believed in transference, where you transfer your ailment to something (or someone) else, like a decapitated eel, worms, snails, the chopped off hand of a thief, your neighbor etc. 
> 
> And that bit about a hole to "let the madness out" is a reference to trepanning, which was used as far back as Stone Age, where to help a person who is possessed by malevolent spirits you carve a coin sized hole in their head to let the demons out. And possibly a reference to lobotomies too now that I think about it...
> 
> For the record I'm not a med student or anything at all related to medicine, I just have the internet and documentaries to thank for these horrifying bits of knowledge. Now excuse me while I go watch fluffy kittens to drain the horrors out of my brain.


	7. Stolen Food, Sleeves and the Shire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo goes job hunting again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took so long! I had some particular trouble getting this chapter written, this being my third or fifth attempt at writing this. 
> 
> Giving a heads up. So there will be Fem!Nori in my story. I like the idea of it, and decided to put it into the story.

Bilbo felt, for lack of a better word, embarrassed. The hobbit was still unemployed, and guiltily living off of the charity of a hard working family.

 

The only other adult who wasn’t working was Bifur due to his head wound, but that never stopped him from making some coin on his carvings and toys. The older dwarf was watching the babies and Merry.

 

Bifur sat on the floor, letting the babies crawl over him as Merry showed the babies the dragon toy that was currently roaring from Left Boot Mountain. Bifur didn’t even flinch when Pippin began patting the axe imbedded in his skull, or when Halla pulled at the black and white braids in his beard.

 

Dalla was homebound currently, but as Bofur had said, she worked off and on as a brewer, creating the strong ales and grogs that dwarves seemed so fond of.

 

And speaking of drinks, Bombur went off to work again at the Chipped Axe. It was a decent tavern according to the two dwarf brothers, but Bilbo had yet to step foot inside.

 

So Bilbo was moping around the kitchen, helping Dalla mix the filling of a hearty meat pie, stewing in more heavy thoughts.

 

Bilbo was denied being a healer by the dwarven guild, which was somewhat understandable given the lack of an apprenticeship. The hobbit was also out of luck as a cook, barkeep and baker because the dwarves felt that the hobbit’s small stature would become a hindrance.

 

Bilbo was beginning to consider a career choice the Baggins clan had never, and would never consider respectable, but proven skilled at in dire times. Something Bilbo hasn’t done since Saradoc’s death.

 

“Ey Bilbo!” Bofur crowed happily. Dalla frowned before snapping at him with a mixing spoon in her sienna toned hand. Bofur was still grinning as he held his calloused hands up in surrender. He said something to her that made her raise an eyebrow and eventually leave the kitchen.

 

“Shouldn’t you be down at the jewel mines?” Bilbo asked, raising an eyebrow too.

 

“Y’know how no one’s been willin’ to hire you, yeah?” Bofur asked, apparently not having heard Bilbo’s question.

 

Bilbo’s head hung low as the hobbit sighed out “…Yes...” 

 

This had absolutely no effect at all on the mustached miner.

 

“Well, I was thinkin’ tha’ maybe if you looked a bit more dwarvish, ye might get hired?”  He said.

Bilbo felt the need to swat at that raggedy old hat Bofur insisted on wearing day and night. Sadly, the hobbit only managed to skew the hat on the dwarf’s head rather than knocking it to the floor.

 

“Watch th’ hat!” Bofur said, clamping a hand onto said hat.

 

“I’ve been over this before.” Bilbo replied in a deadpan. “I can’t grow hair on my chin, and I refuse to wear your dratted boots.”

 

Bilbo shuddered at the word boots. How can anyone walk around while being so disconnected from the very earth was disorienting to the hobbit.

 

“Boots aren’t so bad.” Bofur interjected. “No.” Bilbo said firmly, placing small sun-kissed hands on said hobbits hips, challengingly.

 

“Fine, fine.” Bofur conceded. “Anyways, I was thinkin’ that maybe if you dressed more like a dwarf, then you might have a better chance of findin’ a job.”

 

“You really think me getting gussied up in furs and leather is going to help me get a job?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Certainly better than th’ rags you’re wearing.” Bofur said.

 

Bilbo raised a single eyebrow, but silently mulled over Bofur’s idea. There was nothing wrong with the hobbity clothing Bilbo wore, save for the wear and tear of them. Then again, the three hobbits all only had one pair of clothes. And it is going to get colder as the harvest season wanes and winter starts to loom closer.

 

“Where on Middle Earth would I get the coin to even get such a wardrobe?” Bilbo asked.

 

Why did dwarves have to make things so complicated? In the Shire, if you could barter for it, you could get the thread to make clothes yourself if you could get cloth.

 

It made Bilbo’s head spin when Bombur explained that in their second market stroll past the lace stall.

 

“Well considerin’ how yer skint broke and all,” Bofur said “Figured you could borrow a couple o’ Dalla’s smaller tunics.”

 

Bilbo was touched. “Thank you.” Bilbo said sincerely, grinning at the hatted miner.

 

Dalla had walked back to the kitchen with, presumably was one of her tunics. She gave a smile to Bilbo before holding the item out to the hobbit. Bilbo took it gratefully. Any spare clothing that could be given was the most courteous comfort a host could offer a guest.

 

Generosity was the definitive marker of a civilized hobbit. Not to curry favors like the Bracegirdles from Hardbottle, or to expect things in return like the Sackville-Bagginses, but because sharing whatever you had was the right thing to do in their small community. Especially with the Thicket.

 

“Thank you, Dalla.” Bilbo said. She smiled and nodded, not needing Bofur’s translation at the hobbit’s smile and tone.

 

Bilbo padded out of the kitchen to change and go out job hunting again.

 

It was a wool tunic, dyed burgundy with simple ties at the top. Bilbo touched the tunic softly.

 

 _It’s the same color as Father’s favorite dinner jacket._ Bilbo thought.

 

Bilbo banished such thoughts from the mind with a shake of the head. The hobbit needed to go out and give back to the family for all that they’ve done for Bilbo and the boys.

 

Bilbo switched out the ragged old buttoned shirt for the tunic. It hung low around the hobbit’s knees, looking more like a dress than a tunic, and the sleeves covered all, but Bilbo’s nimble fingers. Bilbo went through the pack Beorn had given and found a strip of plain brown cloth, that the hobbit used as an impromptu belt.

 

The dwarves didn’t have a looking glass, but a polished circle of bronze. Bilbo didn’t look like a respectable hobbit with the tunic-dress, but felt like it was a nice look regardless. So Bilbo stepped out to the streets of Erebor in a borrowed tunic that the hobbit wore like it was the finest silk regalia.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo was walking about the market, planning on talking to the vendors about any jobs they could give the hobbit.

 

 Bilbo was on the second market level, the one for food. There was a section for baked goods, meats, occasional root vegetables, sweets and so on, all organized neatly in squares along rigidly straight paths.

 

The market level was full of boisterous noise that was too loud for hobbit sensibilities. Lots of shouting, coin clatters, and goods being moved this way and that.

Bilbo stepped towards the quieter stalls when a group of three dwarf children ran past the hobbit. They too had bits of facial hair, but what caught Bilbo’s attention was the ragged, stained and hole riddled clothes they wore.

 

Bilbo’s pointed ear twitched, picking up the sounds of small feet scuttling about, nearly drowned out by the shouts of a stall vendor selling “the best roasted yams this side of the Misty Mountains!”

 

Bilbo turned and spotted a dirt covered dwarf child, wearing tattered clothes and one broken boot. Bilbo could make out the gaunt features in the child’s square face, and the longing look at the food.

 

Bilbo waited a heartbeat before veering towards the yam vendor who scared the hungry child away with obscene bellowing.

 

While the vendor was shouting at the child in dwarvish, glaring at the quivering child, Bilbo sneakily slipped a small yam up one of the large sleeves, and then walked off vaguely in the child’s direction, but never losing sight of them.

 

When the two were well out of the yam vendor’s line of sight, Bilbo hurried towards the child.

 

The hobbit gently tapped the dwarf’s arm, and they jumped a foot in the air when they saw Bilbo.

 

“Wh-who’re ye!?” The child asked with large grey eyes.

 

Bilbo just smiled and held out the yam. The child looked at the yam hungrily, then back up at Bilbo in confusion.

 

“Thi’ is fer me?” The child asked. Bilbo just smiled and held the yam out.

 

The child took it with a hesitant hand. The child bit into before looking up at Bilbo with watery eyes.

 

“Thank ya.” The child said before running off, single boot making an off beat thumping as the child disappeared in the throngs of dwarves.

 

Bilbo smiled and went about going to a vendor. Only to be shooed away when it was clear the hobbit was penniless.

 

Stall after stall, Bilbo received two responses: “If you aren’t gonna buy anything, then leave” and “I don’t need your help.”

 

After failing about a dozen attempts, Bilbo dejectedly stepped out of the market, and back to the main level.

 

Bilbo rubbed a hand against a frowning face and gave a heavy sigh.

 

“Keep your hands off me!” Someone shouted from behind the hobbit. Bilbo followed the sound of more shouting and scuffling, wary of the rail-less bridges with every step.

 

There was a large, broad dwarf near the entrance of the markets. They were bald on top, showing off intricate inkings, and they had two axes strapped to their back.

 

“Yer getting’ what ye deserve, ye **makhlûn**!”

 

Bilbo stepped a bit to the side and saw a smaller dwarf with their auburn hair done up in three points. They looked so small compared to the towering brute with ink on their dome.

 

The smaller dwarf glared up at the hulking brute, but their eyes briefly caught Bilbo’s. Bilbo held up a forefinger as a sign to stay silent.

 

Bilbo carefully crept up to the larger dwarf who still had their back to the hobbit as they began shouting and bellowing at the smaller dwarf.

 

Bilbo spotted a coin purse on the dwarf’s belt, and deftly removed it from the thick leather belt. Then with a strong throw, Bilbo threw the coin purse as far as possible against the wall.

 

Coins spilled out of the bag, clattering and rolling along the floor.

 

“What the--?” The bruiser growled, reaching to feel for their belt. The smaller dwarf landed an elbow against the other dwarf’s torso. The sudden jab caused a moment of surprise that momentarily released the other.

 

The star-haired dwarf ducked around the large dwarf before they turned around and pulled Bilbo’s hand as they ran off as fast as possible.

 

“GET BACK HERE!”

 

Bilbo and the crazy-haired dwarf ran around several corners and ducked through streets.

 

They waited in one particularly decrepit alley as the large dwarf barreled past them, shouting in dwarvish and Westron.

 

“Nice bit of slight, ye did there.” The other dwarf said with a smirk and a chuckle.

 

“Thank you…?” Bilbo asked suspiciously.

 

“Nori, daughter of Yri, at yer service.” The auburn haired dwarf—Nori—had said with a bow.

 

“Bilba Baggins, at yours and your family’s.” Bilbo said, awkwardly bowing back.

Nori raised an eyebrow, but still smirked. Bilbo didn’t say anything but started to take a closer look at the dwarf.

 

Nori stood shorter than Dalla and not as stout, but stood taller than Bilbo. She wore intricate braids in her beard and hair, and under the neat layers of wool and leather, Bilbo noticed a female physique.

 

“Neat little nick you pulled earlier.” Nori said again. “It was child’s play.” Bilbo retorted with a snort.

 

“Aye, that it was.” Nori laughed. “Which makes you an experienced thief.”

 

Bilbo went rigid and stared at Nori with a look of panic.

 

“Ach, don’t worry about me rattin’ ye out. Yer lookin’ at one too.” Nori said, lazily waving.

 

“You’re a thief?” Bilbo asked dubiously.

 

“So’re you.” Nori retorted.

 

“I prefer the term burglar.” Bilbo said with a slight smile. “And I haven’t nicked anything for months.”  _Till now I suppose..._

 

“Well Burglar, I’ve been meanin’ t’ thank ye for saving me hide th’ other day.” Nori said.

 

“It was nothing.” Bilbo dismissed. “I’d hope someone would help me too if someone was chasing after me with an axe.”

 

Nori chuckled. “So what’s a hobbit doin’ in th’ markets?” She asked.

 

“You saw me in the markets?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Yam.” Nori said with a snort, not needing to say anything else. 

 

Bilbo chuckled nervously before regaling about the unsuccessful job hunt, and the guilt the hobbit felt about relying on charity to provide for Merry and Pippin when their hosts are already working hard to provide for themselves.

 

Nori listened with an unreadable expression. “Ye any good with clothes?” Nori inquired.

 

“Pardon?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Clothing in general. Weaving, sewing, knitting. Things like that.” Nori answered.

 

Bilbo blinked. “I can’t weave, but I can sew. I don’t know what knitting is but my Aunt Donnamira taught me needle binding. And I can make lace.” Bilbo said with a confused tilt of the head.

 

Nori grinned and clapped the hobbit on the back. “This way, Burglar!” Nori said with a grin before leading the hobbit out towards a quarter full of shops.

 

“Excuse me!” Bilbo squeaked, not liking the rough pull along method, and beginning to flail an arm about.

Nori then roughly maneuvered Bilbo towards a small store. It was made of solid stone, like the rest of the mountain, with a simple wooden door.

 

Bilbo was roughly pulled in after Nori.

 

“ ‘Ello!” She called out loudly, cupping her mouth with one hand.

 

Shortly after there was the sounds of heavily booted feet coming in at a very quick pace. The noise was met by a silver haired dwarf. This dwarf also wore elaborate braids, an elaborately embroidered purple tunic and a matching pair of trousers that billowed into a pair of black boots.

 

“Nori!” The silver haired dwarf shouted in a scolding tone. “You’ve been gone for days! D’you have any idea how worried we’ve been!?” The other dwarf started to shove a large finger at Nori’s torso.

 

“Dori, we’ve a guest.” Nori drawled, pulling the hobbit in from of her. Bilbo wanted to huff at being used as a Baggins-sheild.

 

Dori then blinked before turning to look down at Bilbo.

 

“Ah, goodness!” Dori said. “Dori, son of Yri at your service.” The dwarf said before giving a gracious bow.

 

“Bilba Baggins at yours and your family’s.” Bilbo said before trying to mimic the bow. Yri was the name of Nori’s parent, so this must be Nori’s brother.

 

The older dwarf had a square face, a rounder nose, but Bilbo noticed a trace of resemblance between Dori and Nori. Particularly in the matching dark eyes.

 

“What brings you to my shop Bilba Baggins?” Dori asked kindly, no doubt being the tone used for customers.

 

“Bilba here needs a job to raise two boys on th’ own.” Nori interjected.

 

Bilbo shot her a grimace. “I simply feel bad for relying on the charity of my hosts, when I’m perfectly capable of working myself.” Bilbo huffed.

 

“Anyway, Bilba says they’ve got experience with clothes making, and ye’re always complainin’ ‘bout the work ‘round here.” Nori interjected.

 

“Really?” Dori asked, looking between the two. “Were you a tailor back in the Shire?”

 

“No, nearly all hobbits make their own clothes now. I learned all of my sewing, needle-binding and lace making from my mother’s family.” Bilbo said.

 

“Needle-binding?” Dori asked.

 

“It’s a knot-work technique that makes clothes relatively quickly, if you use simple stitches.” Bilbo said.

 

Dori hummed, and tapped a finger against the beard ornament hanging off of his chin.

 

“Can you show me what you can do? I’ve a couple spare under-tunics that need sleeves sewn on and a tunic that needs hemming.” Dori said.

 

Bilbo grinned, ecstatic. This was the most progress the hobbit had made yet. “Of course.” Bilbo chirped.

 

Dori gave the hobbit a seat at a wooden table, the tunics, strong thread and very fine metal needles.

 

The cold metal felt cold and strange compared to the wooden or bone needles Bilbo was used to, but the hobbit didn’t let that cause a bother.

 

The hobbit hummed an old tune Granmama Adamanta used when she did any form of housework, as neat little stitches were made and made again. Bilbo lost track of time, but managed to complete the shirt in an orderly fashion.

 

The tunic was snatched away by Dori, who inspected the hobbit’s handiwork.

 

“Double seams?” Dori asked, carefully going over every stitch the hobbit made.

 

“Family trademark.” Bilbo said with a shrug. Tookish clothing always had a double seam, just like how all Baggins clothing had meticulously small stitches.

 

“Looks ‘bout as good as yer’s Dori.” Nori said, peering at the tunic. Dori shushed Nori as he continued to look at Bilbo’s quick handiwork.

 

“Bilba Baggins.” Dori said.

 

Bilbo rose to stand, feeling apprehensive.

 

“You’ve done a good job with this seam. But before I hire you, could you come in over the next few days so that I can see what you’re fully capable of?” Dori asked politely.

 

“Of course!” Bilbo said with a wide grin. “Thank you so much Master Dori.”

 

“It’s no trouble really.” Dori said with a smile.

 

Nori looked between the two before smirking. “Good. Maybe now ye’ll stop houndin’ me to come in and work for ye.”

 

Dori swatted at Nori with a huff. “Goodness Nori, some honest work won’t kill you.”

Nori stuck her tongue out before ducking behind Bilbo in order to avoid another smack.

 

 _I suppose the worse is behind us_ Bilbo thought.

 

* * *

 

The sky was beginning to grey, and there was the smell of rain in the air. Old Took sat on a bench outside the Great Smials of Tookborough, smoking a pipe, and keeping a glass knife in the waist of his trousers.

 

Old Took strained his eyes towards the Thicket. It was ugly and black against the remaining vibrant colors of the Shire. It fouled the Bywater, turning it undrinkable and thick to the touch. Poor souls that fall in disappear into the ooze, most recently little Daffodil Proudfoot.

 

There was a faint rustling of grass towards his right. The thain stamped out his smoldering pipe with a growl.

 

He turned to be greeted by the grim faces of Isengrim and Hildibrand. They both had haunted looks in their eyes that scared Gerontius Took.

 

“Boys?” he asked his sons. They were thin lipped and quiet.

 

“We couldn’t save them Dad.” Hildibrand choked out. Gerontius bolted towards his sons. “Sons…” He whispered.

 

“We couldn’t get them out. He’d already killed most of them by the time we came. We couldn’t even bring them back to their parents for a proper burial.” Hilidrand began to sob into his hands. Old Took Gerontius pulled his son into his arms.

 

He looked at Isengrim, who just looked so broken. “Boys come inside.” He said.

 

“Thain.” A voice sneered from the left.

 

The three Tooks whipped towards the sound, bearing arms. Hildibrand drew his bow taught, as Isengrim held two flint daggers and glared.

 

Standing outside their house was Otho Baggins.

 

“Get out of my land, Snatcher.” Old Took snarled, griping his knife tighter.

 

“I’m here to pass on a message.” Otho said, voice wavering. “Gollum wants Bilbo Baggins, in exchange for peace in the Shire.”

 

Hildibrand jolted forward. “Why you taboo breaking, trout faced bastard!” He snarled, raising a knife.

 

Old Took raised a hand, halting his eldest.

 

“Bilba is not in the Shire.” The Thain of the Shire said firmly. “Even so, you and your appointed chief will never get my grandchild.”

 

Otho glared and bared his teeth.

 

“Y’know, lying won’t save Bilbo.” He snarled.

 

“You won’t get your filthy taboo breaking hands on Bilba.” Isengrim snarled.

 

“Are you sure?” Otho asked. “If I get Bilbo, my dear cousin won’t suffer at Gollum’s ministrations. I’d make sure of that.”

 

“I believe Bilba made the point clear when you took a shiv to the leg.” Gerontius said cooly to the toffee-nosed hobbit.

 

Otho glared even harder. “I’ve warned you, and given my message. Goodbye _Thain_.” He sneered out the title like a hiss before limping away.

 

“By the way.” Otho said over his shoulder. “Sorry about little Everard. Such a pity.”

 

Isengrim threw a flint dagger, nailing it into Otho’s shoulder.

 

“He was ten!” He bellowed.

 

Otho ran off as fast as his limp would take him. Isengrim made to throw the dagger, no doubt aiming for something important, when the wind picked up. Their pointed ears heard a voice in the soft moans of the wind.

 

_“Sedâje. Mae eni Bilba sleibos.”_

“Dad?” The two asked.

 

“Bilba made it…” Old Took whispered. So long since the Green Speech of old was spoken of since the Shire’s founding, only one hobbit still knows it. And now the hidden folk whisper it amongst the winds, that his grandchild is somewhere safe.

 

“D’you remember when the Shire was free Dad?” Isengrim asked. “When all I did was skip lessons to go play with Hildigard?”

 

Gerontius winced. Hildigard’s fate was something Isengrim never spoke of. Hildibrand looked confused, no doubt from the lack of mention of Hildigard.

 

“He was ten. He talked to me yesterday about his missing tooth.” He sobbed. “I remember playing with all my brothers and sisters when they were that young. And he just killed him and tore his heart out.”

 

“Isen…” Gerontius said softly.

 

“Then he just dumped him in a pit at the base of the damned Thicket!” Isengrim was shaking now.  

 

Gerontius pulled him into a tight hug, his heart twisted with sorrow.

 

“Isen, there’s hope yet. Some hobbits got out. Including Bilba, Merry and Paladin’s lad.” Gerontius said, clutching at his son.  “I told Bilba to find my old friend Gandalf. You remember Gandalf, yes?”

 

“Me and Isumbras stole his fireworks during your birthday party.” Isengrim said with a sniffle.

 

“Why on earth did you two do that anyhow?” Gerontius asked.

 

“That dwarf said he wanted to take Hilda with him to the mountains. We were worried he was going to go off and ask for Hilda’s hand.” Isengrim said with a wet chuckle.

 

Gerontius held his oldest out at arms length.

 

“I forgot how protective of Hilda you were.” He said.

 

“It’s hard not to be when Hildigard was the first to bear a faerie gift since Bullroarer.” Isengrim said.

 

“But Hildigard never grew to Bullroarer’s size.” Old Took reminded.

 

“Bilba’s not the only one then.” Hildibrand said. Said, not asked. “Not the only one in our time.”

 

“No.” Old Took said. “Never before have there been as many born with faerie gifts since the Wandering Days.”

 

“Why?” Hildibrand asked, frowning.

 

“No one really knows.” Old Took said, as he ushered his sons inside the protected smials he called home. “But I like to think of it as a sign.”

 

“A sign for what?” Isengrim asked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In future chapters there will be one-sided relationships that I haven't tagged, so brace yourselves. I'd like to definitely say that I will be mentioning Bilbo/a's gender in the next chapter, so there's something to look forward to. Feel free to let me know what you think, and if I made any mistakes. 
> 
> Needle-binding is an old technique that predates knitting and crochet. It was most famously implemented by the vikings, and is still used in parts of Scandinavia today. I think that the hobbits would have used it to make warmer clothing articles during their Wandering Days, and that some families kept using the technique. 
> 
> Also, for most of the hobbitish language, I'll be butchering Proto-Celtic, and maybe other Celtic languages for the job, so I apologize for language butchering ahead of time. 
> 
> Khuzdul:  
> makhlûn- criminal (male). Literally crime-male
> 
> Old Green Speech:  
> Sedâje. Mae eni Bilba sleibos- Stop. Bilba is in (the) mountain.


	8. Song and Lore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An early morning in Laketown, and Bilbo goes to try out for a job at Dori's shop, but someone drops in that Bilbo never expected.

It was a foggy morning in Laketown. The air was crisp and birds could be heard chirping at the early morning sun.

 

Sigrid was up and about the streets, an empty basket in hand, and a hidden coin purse on her person. She ambled her way across the rickety planks towards the market district. It was time for her to go and get more food, cloth and maybe another jam jar.

 

She hummed happily as the sun turned the grey sky a delicate pink.

 

“Sigrid!” Hilda Bianca hollered from her herb-stand with a smile and a wave.

 

Sigrid scuttled over towards her with a smile in return. “Good mornin’ Hilda.” Sigrid greeted.

 

“Good to see you up and about, dear.” Hilda praised with a grateful grin. “Haven’t seen hide nor tail of you in a fortnight.”

 

Sigrid colored at that. “Making a market run.” She explained.

 

Hilda nodded and patted her arm. “Let me know if you need anything dearie.” She offered. “I’d be more than happy to help.”

 

Sigrid knew that. After Ma died, and when Sigrid was too little to do all the housework herself, Missus Bianca would come in and help around the house while Mister Bianca went about helping Da with his barging.

 

So she nodded in reply before going about the rest of the market stalls.

 

She had barely walked away from Hilda’s stall when something in the water shimmered strangely.

 

Sigrid walked towards the edge of the walkway, and peered deep into the Long Lake. There was a faint flicker of white below the water’s surface. Too large to be a fish, and it was gone in a blink.

 

Sigrid blinked again, and when she opened them, she was surrounded by the freezing water of the lake. And then she heard it. It was a distorted echo of someone singing.

 

She gasped, letting loose a large supply of air bubbles.

 

It wasn’t a song in Westron, she knew. It was a haunting sort of song, as the voice was filled with anguish and sorrow.

 

She turned her head about slowly in the water, hoping to catch sight of the singer. When she turned in the other direction, a pair of glowing silver eyes were peering at her from an inch away.

 

Sigrid blinked in surprise, and the next thing she knew, Percy was pulling her out of the water and onto the wooden planks.

 

“Sigrid!?” Hilda exclaimed. “Are you alright!?”

 

Sigrid coughed up some water as an answer. She could still hear that song echoing in her ears, that sad, sad song.  

 

A heavy coat was wrapped around her shivering shoulders. Looking up proved that it was Percy’s coat. “We best get you home, missy.” Percy worriedly said, hoisting Sigrid upright.

 

“B-but--” Sigrid chattered. She could still hear that song as it overlay their words with its melody.

 

“C’mon Siri,” Hilda cooed, leading the shivering girl back home. “I’ll make you my best herbal tea to warm up your bones.”

 

Sigrid would have protested, if her teeth would stop chattering, that she could barely hear them over the sound of that song, and that she wanted to stay out of the house.

* * *

 

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to expect from Dori. Yet, the hobbit eventually found the little shop making only one wrong turn into a dead-end alley. It was barely past first breakfast, so most dwarves were getting ready for their day.

 

Merry had cried again as Bilbo left, but Bilbo promised that they’ll spend more time together—most likely out foraging through the nearby woods for food and medicine, just like they ised to back in the Shire. Merry cheered up at that, insisting that they bring Pippin along too.

 

As generous as the Ur family was, Bilbo was feeling a bit sick from the dwarven diet, —how anyone can eat so little fruits and vegetables is beyond Bilbo-- and decided that the rest of the hobbits’ meals would be very hobbit-y indeed.

 

Bilbo barely stifled a giggle before entering the tailor shop.

 

“Hello?” Bilbo called out, not seeing anyone about. “Master Dori?”

 

There was a muffled shout, and a faint clatter before Dori stepped out from some back room. The dwarf was immaculately dressed, hair and beard intricately braided as it was the day before. Bilbo almost felt self-conscious about Dalla’s borrowed tunic.

 

“Hello again Master Baggins.” Dori greeted politely. Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the title, for more than one reason.

 

“Ready to start your trial run?” Dori asked.

 

Bilbo grinned. “Of course.”

 

“I do have to make some points clear before we start though Master Baggins.” Dori professed.

 

Bilbo frowned and waited for the bad news to drop.

 

“Well, this shop doesn’t get a lot of good business, and work is often slow.” Dori began. “And with what I’d be able to pay you, if you do work with us, would be not as much as another tailor’s wages. All that together, and I’d like to offer a part-time job.”

 

Bilbo’s face was clearly confused. “What’s a part-time job?” The hobbit asked.

 

Dori looked surprised before coughing into his fist.

 

“Well,” the dwarf explained “a part-time job is, well more or less how it sounds. You only work a part of your time, rather than a full day’s work. Of course that means that your wages are lower than a full-timer’s, but--”

 

“A part-time job sounds perfectly fine.” Bilbo drummed in. “And certainly better than relying on another’s hard earned coin.”

Dori nodded, allowing a brief smile.

 

Dori showed Bilbo to the back room he had come out from. The room was lit with several lanterns of what looked like amber, casting the room alight with a soft warm glow. There was a table covered with various tailoring implements, shelves of cloth, and baskets of yarns and threads. In a corner, Bilbo spotted a dust covered loom.

 

“Feel free to use whatever you see.” Dori intoned. “I’d like to see three articles of clothing you make.”

 

Bilbo nodded. “Any sort of clothing item?” Bilbo had asked. Dori nodded.

 

“I won’t ask you to make an entire ribbon of lace, that’d take far too long.” Dori amended. “But whatever you make, you must use whatever is in this room.

 

Bilbo nodded, and went over to the various items strewn about the room.

 

Bilbo looked over the various items as Dori’s footsteps were heard going to another part of the shop. Bilbo mulled over the various cloths and threads before buckling down and getting to work.

 

* * *

 

The hobbit sighed again at the tedious work of needle-binding a child’s hat. Knot after knot, Bilbo gave a sigh, and rubbed hazel eyes tiredly. Being indoors without a window to the outside meant that Bilbo had no idea how long this has been going on for.

 

Bilbo slowly moved a small hand back down to the table, revealing a startling sight to the hobbit.

 

There was someone else in the room. They wore a long, draping shawl of soft green. The shawl reached the floor, back turned to Bilbo.

 

Bilbo remained quiet, as alertness, and fear pumped through hobbit-y veins.

 

 _“To think a changeling would try to work for a dwarf.”_ The stranger murmured, in a vaguely older dialect of Greenspeech. Their voice was faint, like the echo of a whisper, a surreal edge in the tone.

 

 _“Changeling?”_ Bilbo inquired faintly, not daring to take eyes off of the other. That was a term few even in the Shire are familiar with.

 

 _“One who can change their form, or in your case an alteration of your form.”_ The other whispered.

 

How did you know that? What do you have against dwarves? Bilbo silently pondered, but didn’t ask. Asking too many questions was rude to those like this stranger if the lore of old was correct. 

_“You’ve met others like myself? Other changelings?”_ The hobbit asked instead.

_“I knew many a changeling, and the many changes they can make. Surprised am I that you, one who can change between bearer and sire, are working for a dwarf.”_ The shawled stranger breathed. _“Once, changelings of your ilk were beloved and cherished; to think that now you go about laboring with dwarves.”_

 

Bilbo went pallid, jaw going slack. 

 

The stranger lightly touched the loom with a single thin finger, staying silent.

 

 _“If you don’t mind me asking.”_ Bilbo interrupted. _“How do you know of my…peculiar body functions?”_

 

The stranger never turned to face Bilbo directly, but they did stand stiffer than before. The air was tense with a heavy silence as Bilbo waited with a bated breath.

 

 _“Ban-an-ti.”_ The other being said. 

Bilbo blinked and the other figure was gone.

 

The hobbit slumped forward; letting loose a shaky breath, and running a small hand through the short curls.

 

It was a deafening silence that permeated the room as old faerie lore began drifting into Bilbo’s mind.

 

* * *

 

_Long have the hobbits known the fair folk. From before the Wandering Days, when they all lived peacefully in the lands of plenty near the rising sun and moon. Long have they been neighbors, and long have their people mingled together. So children of faerie union are not unheard of._

 

_The half-fae were told to possess faerie gifts, gifts of magic._

_Some are born lucky; some are born with a talent or knack. And some are changelings._

_Faeries are unlike any other being upon this green earth. Magic allows them to change their forms as they are fickle beings. You only see a faerie as they want to be seen, when you see them. Be it the shadows at night, the shape of your child or whatever else the fae wish._

_Their half-fae descendants sometimes have such magic._

_Bandobras Took was a changeling, capable of changing to the size of a man as he could ride a fully grown horse. And he used his change to win the Battle of Greenfields._

_Hildifons Took was another; he could turn into smoke should he wish it. And he left on an adventure—vanished in the night as a plume of grey smoke._

_But Hildigard Took was the last known changeling to be capable of having a male form, and a female one. The last one before Bilbo was born._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter wasn't any good! I struggled a bit with this one, but I hope it turned out okay.
> 
> To clarify the changeling thing: I played around with Faerie myths to work into this story, so not everything will be strictly adhering to traditional faerie stories. 
> 
> Faeries are shape-shifters, capable of taking whatever shape they want, when they want. 
> 
> Their mixed-blood descendants on the other hand, can only take one other form, and not by will. Their form is dictated by the needs of those around them. So for example, when the Shire was under attack from goblins, Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took changed to a larger and stronger form to fight them off. 
> 
> As for Bilbo:
> 
> Bilbo is a changeling that can have a female body at times, and male at others.


	9. What do you see?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is not a morning person and his nephews are out looking for trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in so long! Life caught up with me and kept me busy, and then writer's block hit me like a ton of bricks...

_He is outside. Surrounded by trees with brilliant red leaves, and a warm golden sunlight shone from a deep blue sky. He walks over softly crunching leaves. He hears ravens crowing in the distance, and the soft hush of the breeze._

_He walks, eyes roaming everywhere, drinking in the unfamiliar sights. Wandering over to a clearing where he sees sitting on a rock, the familiar small shawled figure. They’re watching the crimson leaves dance on the soft winds. A grin breaks out on his face, and his step is lighter as he goes to the shawled figure._

_He nears and the figure stands and walks towards him with silent steps that don’t even rustle the fallen leaves. They stand a breath away from each other. He looks down at the petite being, and whispers “I’ve missed you.”_

_He pulls the other close, their shadowed face meeting his long braided beard. His arms hold the shawled one close but gently, as if they were made of the most delicate glass. And he feels small, thin arms snake around him, clutching to him with a firm grip. Their head was beginning to raise, and he thought that in the shadows under the shawl he could see a pair of eyes. Large eyes of green flecked with brown, and looking at him so lovingly. But there was a sad and lonely gleam to those eyes._

           

* * *

 

Thorin Oakenshield woke with a gasp, bolting upright in his large lavish bed. His hands grasp nothing but soft furs and silken bed sheets that do not feel warm enough. He reaches and scratches his fingertips against his mournfully short beard, it barely hung off of his jaw. Even before going to **Azanulbizar** his beard was nowhere near as long as it had been in that dream.

           

            Thorin shook his head, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He got up and dressed in his most casual clothes. He needed to forge or spar to forget about that dream, those eyes. _Maybe both_ he decided. He walked towards the forge, only to see Vili of all people at the door. Thorin groaned. It was too early to deal with his brother-in-law.

 

“Morning Thorin!” Vili called chipperly, beaming a grin at him.

 

Thorin grumbled something, he wasn’t sure what but something.

 

“Have you seen the boys?” Vili asked. “I thought they’d come by and give you a ‘good morning,’” Vili said, tone implying that the last two words were anything but a “good morning.”

 

But then again, Thorin never enjoyed rising up from sleep, never had. Yet chipper Vili was always up early puttering around. He doesn’t trust people who rise with the sun and are that happy in the early morn.

 

“No,” Thorin answered, rubbing a hand down his sleepy face. “Try the barracks. Last time they were caught putting glue on axe handles.”  Which promptly got them three lectures collectively from Dwalin, Fundin and their mother.

 

Vili snickered, putting any doubt as to the source of his nephew’s mischief streak to rest. “Any who,” Vili tacked on, “Happy forging.”

 

And with that Vili scampered away, probably going to the barracks, or to go pester his sister who was a bigger despiser of mornings than Thorin. Why did she marry him again?

 

Thorin shook his head, and entered his forge. Well, technically it was the royal forge since he wasn’t the first amongst the royal family to work metal. He was the first blacksmith yes, but not the first smith.

 

His grandfather, King Thror, was a goldsmith. Working gold was the kingliest sort of smithing there ever was. Thorin’s was the work of the rabble, the common dwarf, as his mother often remarked unhappily. She herself was a deft silver smith, despite being only the daughter of a minor lord, so his craft was a disappointment as the first born son and heir.

 

He shook his head again and went to work. He lost himself in the crackling fire, the clang of white hot steel, and the hiss of the cooling vats. His mind focused only on shaping and hammering the metal. Not on his family members. Not on Erebor’s crumbling mines. And not on green and brown eyes set in a shadowed face.

 

* * *

 

Fili and Kili were indeed up and about, but they were nowhere near the barracks. They learned their lesson after the hour long rant their **Amad** gave them, thank you very much. No, they were sneaking out from the more opulent higher levels of the mountain, and going to the lower levels.

 

“What do you think it’s like down by the lake?” Kili whispered, hood drawn up as they scurried past a sleeping guard.

 

Fili looked back at him and shrugged. “Dunno,” He answered simply. “I’ve only seen it from the widows up top.”

 

“D’you reckon the men will be like those tradesmen that sometimes come on through?” Kili wondered aloud. “Or d’you think they’ll be like the men **Adad** told in his stories?”

 

“ **Adad** came from the west Ki,” Fili reminded. “The men are probably different from those in the west.”

 

Kili nodded, mulling the insight over.

 

“But we’ll never know unless we go and see for ourselves.” Fili tacked on, smirking under his young beard and mustache. Kili smirked back.

 

They headed off towards the main gate, hoods drawn low over their faces, walking as nonchalantly as possible past the tired guards. It was disappointing to see so few other dwarves up and about, but it was still early yet. No doubt by the time they get back it will be busy with their people going about their lives.

 

They managed to slip out the gates, and high fived when they walked past the humongous gate-keeper statues. From there they followed the River Running south. It was a long walk, but their chats and songs and jokes made it feel shorter.

 

They went atop a little hill and saw it. The Long Lake stretched out wide, glittering shades of pink and yellow with the early morning. And in the center, past some stone pillars lay Laketown. From here it looked to be made of nothing but wood. Fili frowned, thinking he saw jaunty and awkward tilts in the roofs and timber frames.

 

“Let’s go!” Kili cheered, grinning like a little bairn, as he slid down the hillside. Fili followed after him. Excitement bubbling inside him.

 

The only was in by land was a long, rather unsafe in Fili’s opinion, bridge that stretched towards an iron gate. An unguarded but closed gate that the two hopped and scuttled around with each other’s help, and into the town.

 

It was decrepit looking. Damp wood bending and bowing in the various buildings. Wooden walkways that creaked uneasily under their gaits.

 

 _People live here? Have been living here?_ Fili asked himself in shock, not quite understanding it. And judging by Kili’s face he didn’t really get it either.

 

They decided to duck around what could only be called a side street as men and women began to rise and enter the streets. They hid in a dank and damp ally, watching various people go by. All wore layers of what could only be called rags, and no one seemed that well off save for the men donning poorly polished armor, but Fili was strangely fascinated.

 

He saw men enter their flat bottomed boats, and women opening up the market stalls. He saw children running over precariously placed planks, youths tossing nets and net covered glass balls to each other and their elders. Men and women of various shapes, sizes and skin tones working about and chattering together.

 

A very tall, burly man with dark brown skin and frizzy black hair stood near the ally the two brothers hid in. A gap toothed grin split on his broad face.  “How’s it, Bard?” The man called out towards the canal, waving a large hand.

 

A lean, pale man with dark hair and a mustache rose a hand back at the other. “Fine Rangi,” the other man, Bard, hollered. There was something off about Bard’s voice. It didn’t have the same accent most of the Lake-men spoke with. Was he not of Laketown then?

 

Kili tugged at Fili’s arm. When he turned, he pointed to a dwarf-sized hole they could slip through to another part of the town. Which they did.

 

It was a quieter part of town, very sparse of people at the moment so they wandered the street.

 

“Might not be bad to live out here,” Kili mused as they moseyed about. “Out on the water every day.”

 

“Maybe if it was built a bit sturdier.” Fili added, head whipping about to look at the various buildings. He may not be an architect, but he’d be wary of living in some of these leaning buildings. Nothing seemed solid, or properly straight. He hoped everyone in Laketown knew how to swim.

 

Kili said something in response, but Fili didn’t catch it. His eye was caught by a lonely little bird tapping at a window, where Fili caught sight of someone inside. From what Fili could tell from this distance it was a woman. He pulled a squawking Kili out of view from the window before she caught them.

 

“Shh,” Fili hissed. “There’s someone inside this house!”  He gestured to the house they were slumped against with a jerk of his thumb.

 

Kili looked more curious than worried. “Let’s go see!” He whispered back excitedly.

 

“Excuse me?” Fili gaped. “You want to spy on someone, from outside their house!?”

 

“Why not?” Kili asked with a shrug. “Can't hurt to take a tiny peek.”

 

Fili opened his mouth to say that spying on a _lady_ was wrong, when he heard a voice singing.

 

_Bittida en morgon innan solan uppran_

_Innan foglarna började sjunga_

_Bergatrollet friade till fager ungersven_

_Hon hade en falskeliger tunga_

_Herr Mannelig Herr Mannelig_

_Trolofven I mig_

_För det jeg bjunder så gerna_

_I kunnen väl svara endast ja eller nej_

_Om I viljen eller nej_

_Eder vill jag gifva de gångare tolf_

_Som gå uti rosendelunde_

_Aldrig har det någon sadel uppå dem_

_Ej heller betsel uti munnen_

_Herr Mannelig Herr Mannelig_

_Trolofven I mig_

_För det jeg bjunder så gerna_

_I kunnen väl svara endast ja eller nej_

_Om I viljen eller nej_

_Eder vill jag gifva de qvarnarna tolf_

_Som stå mellan Tillö och Ternö_

_Sternarna de äro af rödaste gull_

_Och hjulen silfverbeslagna_

_Herr Mannelig Herr Mannelig_

_Trolofven I mig_

_För det jeg bjunder så gerna_

_I kunnen väl svara endast ja eller nej_

_Om I viljen eller nej_

_Eder vill jag gifva ett förgyllande svärd_

_Som klingar utaf femton guldringar_

_Och strida huru I strida vill_

_Stridsplatsen skolen I väl vinna_

_Herr Mannelig Herr Mannelig_

_Trolofven I mig_

_För det jeg bjunder så gerna_

_I kunnen väl svara endast ja eller nej_

_Om I viljen eller nej_

_Eder vill jag gifva en skjorta så ny_

_Den bästa I lysten att slita_

_Inte är hon sömnad av nål eller trå_

_Men virkat av silket det hvita_

_Herr Mannelig Herr Mannelig_

_Trolofven I mig_

_För det jeg bjunder så gerna_

_I kunnen väl svara endast ja eller nej_

_Om I viljen eller nej_

_Sådana gåfvor toge jag väl emot_

_Om du vore en hederlig qvinna_

_Men nu så är du det värsta bergatroll_

_Af Neckens och djävulens stämma_

_Bergatrollet ut på dörren sprang_

_Hon rister och jämrar sig svåra_

_Hade jag fått den fager ungersven_

_Så hade jag mistat min plåga_

_Herr Mannelig Herr Mannelig_

_Trolofven I mig_

_För det jeg bjunder så gerna_

_I kunnen väl svara endast ja eller nej_

_Om I viljen eller nej_

It came from the house, the voice clear, softer in tone than any dam he’s ever heard, but building up swells of confidence, and dying down mournfully. 

Fili tried to stand up and look at who was singing when a loud clatter of metal sounded from the house to the right. A one eyed old woman with a hunched back was bent over a rusty old wash basin. She turned to look at Fili and Kili with a stern, thunderous grimace.

 

“What’re ya kids doin’!?” A gravelly voice croaked. She brandished a thumping pole menacingly as she screeched “Ain’t ya got somethin’ better ta do!?”

 

Kili pulled Fili to his feet and the two bolted like they were being chased by rabid wargs.

 

“I think we overstayed our welcome Fi,” Kili joked as they ran. Fili snorted in response.

 

They managed to make two wrongs turns in their escape: one into an alley piled high with garbage and old fish bones, and the second into a shed with more rust than wood or nails. And Fili was convinced that a child managed to spot them at the shed, which led to a fear that the grown men in armor would be coming after them. And that would not be pretty at all if **Amad** got involved.

 

“This way!” Kili cheered, dragging Fili by the arm to the gate. But there was a guard there now. A weathered looking greybeard, perched on a stool. “ **Fasak!”** Kili hissed under his breath.

 

“You kiss **Amad** with that mouth?” Fili asked, raising a blond eyebrow.

 

“Oh, shut up, you’ve said worse,” Kili countered.

 

“Not as bad as Uncle Thorin can get though,” Fili interjected. “Amazing really.”

 

“No one can beat Uncle’s cursing when he’s in the mood,” Kili deadpanned. “Anyway, how are we going to get past him?” He asked, gesturing wildly at the old man.

 

Fili studied the man from their hiding spot. That looked like a mighty old stool, and shoddy at best. So Fili took a hefty bit of garbage (probably a broken handle for something), and gave it a quick toss and catch.

 

Then he promptly threw it at one of the stool legs.

 

Kili gaped as the stool leg gave a splintering crack, and the man hollered as he fell into the water. Fili and Kili then snuck past, threw the now open gate, and ran back to Erebor.

 

They neared the surrounding wood that flanked the mountain when Fili chanced a look back. No one came up from Laketown after them. That was good.

 

But some part of his mind nagged at him. That song was not in Westron, nor Khuzdul and he doubted it was Elvish. What was the language? And who was it that sang a song that lingered on such sorrowful notes.

 

Kili went stock still, and Fili stumbled into his brother. “Did you hear that?” Kili asked, looking every which way. It was quiet all save for the ravens of the mountain and the river’s babbling.

 

“Hear what?” Fili asked, following his brother’s head.

 

“I thought I heard something.” Kili explained, face screwing into a thoughtful frown.

 

Fili looked around, trying to catch any sort of noise. He opened his mouth to tell his brother that he had clearly lost his mind, and was hearing things when something moved in the corner of his eye, and he swore he heard the faintest whisper.

 

He looked towards the trees. There wasn’t so much as a breeze but there was a rustling in the leaves.  _Probably just a squirrel._ He told himself.

 

“Race you to the kitchens?” Fili offered, smirking.

 

Kili met his smirk with a challenging one of his own. “First one there gets the last cloudberry tart!” Kili shouted before taking off. “Cheater!” Fili snarled before racing too.

 

Neither brother noticed that from where the leaves rustled, a pair of large glittering eyes watched them as they re-entered the mountain.  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is called Herr Mannelig, a medieval Swedish ballad. This particular version is done by Garmarna. I know that Dalish (the language of Dale and the Northmen) is based on Norse language so I imagined that this song could have been sung in a dialect of Dalish. 
> 
> For the record I did change one word in it, the word for Christian to honorable to fit in a Middle Earth story better. A translation for the song will come up in later chapters. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you thought of it! 
> 
> Khuzdul Used:
> 
> Azanulbizar: Battle for Moria, led by King Thror  
> Adad: father  
> Amad: mother  
> Fasak: fuck


	10. Voices in my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gollum talks, Bilba is at work and Frerin just wants an ale.

            In the Shire, the Thicket loomed around in a perfect, gnarled circle of thorns. Thick, twisted bramble casting solid shadows as close to night as possible at midday. Hobbits within the Thicket’s ring steer clear of the shadows it casts. But there is one who revels in the darkness.

            Gollum skulked about, nearly brushing against the massive thorns. He was on his hands and feet, like a vile beast.

            “Nasty Tookses,” he croaked. “Nasties with theirs bowses and arrowses.” He looked at a bandaged limb, the gaunt appendage seeping blood. He began to lap at it like an animal licks their wounds.

            _You silly, stupid thing._

Gollum went still and gave a mournful groan. He went deeper into the shadows, his thin body pressed against the brown grass near the Thicket’s roots.

            _Not only do you keep failing to kill the Thain, you let other Tooks escape!_

Gollum sunk deeper against the sharp, dry grass. He tried to curl in on himself, but it was no use. That voice, that voice that scolded was deep inside his head. The voice sounded like an echo of hundreds of voices speaking in unison.

 “We’s sorry Precious,” he whined, voice grating and high. He clutched at the dry grass shoots with his big, flat hands.

            _If you were truly sorry, you would actually do as you’re told. But I suppose you can’t help it. After all, on your own you can never do anything right._

 “Yes, Precious.”

_Where would you be without us? Trapped. We were the ones who set you free. We were the ones who lead you here. You need us. You know that, don’t you?_

“Yes, yes, Precious! Needs you, we do!” Gollum cried.

The voice was silent for a brief pause. That always scared Gollum, the empty silence in his head. His own voice no longer echoes in his head. It was only them. “Precious?”

            _We need the Tooks dead. Every last one, otherwise our dream can never come true._

He nodded. “Yes, Precious. We’ll kills them. Kills them all!”

            _Calm yourself you stupid thing! We cannot be hasty, or you’ll fail us again!_

Gollum shut up, and nodded. He lifted his head eagerly.

            _The Thicket Ring will not come down until the last drop of Took blood runs dry. Now we can get rid of every Took IN the ring, but others live beyond it now, thanks to your incompetence. Some have gone far, far to the east if the winds rang true._

“What does we do Precious?” he whispered fervently, eager to please.

_You must stay to deal with these hobbits. But there are others beyond the Thicket that will heed my words, and bring me the hearts of those outside the Shire._

            “Whos Precious?” he inquired, ugly jealousy creeping in.

_Never you mind, who. They will not fail us. Now, why don’t you go and find us a heart? A fresh Tookish heart._

Gollum nodded, and began to crawl to the edge of the shadow.  “We knows Precious,” he sobbed, jealousy, hate and shame rocking through his lank body. “We knows.”

_Good, now go and fetch us a heart. Now._

 

* * *

 

 

Frerin was walking through the Royal Palace. Thorin was immersed in his smithing, and Dís was busy having a date with Víli. His favorite nephews were off to lessons with Gimli, so he couldn’t egg them on again. So he planned on meeting a friend and getting a stiff ale.

He made a turn, grin on his face when he ran into someone.A young dwarf with a short scribe’s haircut, and decked in knitted clothes rushed towards them; arms laden with ink, quills and a ledger.

            “Sorry Mister!” the young scribe panted. He fidgeted when he saw Frerin, but he made no indication that he recognized the prince. Understandable. King Thrain’s first unofficial decree was that the Royal family leave the palace as few times as possible. None of their portraits have circulated about the city since Thror was reigning monarch. The King has made no public appearances in any of the years he reigned. Before that actually if Frerin recalled clearly.

            “Pleased to meet you,” the prince politely added, bowing his head slightly.

The scribe went flustered and gave a deep bow. “Ori son of Yri, at your service,” was his greeting. He fidgeted more when he rose from his bow.

            “Rin, at your service,” Frerin gave an equally deep bow. “Where are you off to, if I may ask?”

            Ori squirmed in place, fingers gripping the ledger tightly. “I’m to transcribe today’s Council meeting. But I have no idea where the meeting chamber is.” He explained.

            Frerin nodded, blonde braids jingling with beads. “You just go down this corridor,” he explained pointing behind him with a thumb “and then make a left that will take you to the right spot. From there just look for a big silver gilded door, you can’t miss it.”

            Ori nodded, grinning appreciatively back. “Thank you so much Rin!” he chirped before speeding down the hall.

He barely stepped forward when Dwalin made the turn and faced him.

“Are you lost too?” Frerin joked, grinning at Thorin’s friend—the captain of the Royal Guard. Dwalin was more stone-faced than usual. “What’s got your goat this time?” he asked, raising a single eyebrow. He got a glare in response. Frerin sighed and slumped. “Wanna join me at getting pissed off my head before noon?” Frerin was going to regret this, he just knew it.

Dwalin nodded his head appreciatively and let loose a frustrated sigh.  He ran a hand over his bald and tattooed head. Frerin hid a grimace, those tattoos were the personal sigils of fallen dwarves from **Azanulbizar.** “Alright,” he continued "best get going then.”

 ------------

            “I can’ believe tha’ bloody thief go’ away again!” Dwalin bellowed, slamming his heavy metal tankard down.  Frerin hesitantly nursed his ale, staring at the small cracks forming under the guard’s tankard. The table was made of marble for Mahal’s sake!

            “Guess he duped you again cousin,” Frerin said, bravely taking a swallow of his tankard. Dwalin snorted before taking a deep swig and setting the drink down less forcefully.

            “The thief had help,” he growled, ale halfway up to his lips. “Bloody imp.” Dwalin gulped his ale, not noticing the younger prince’s confusion.

            “What do you mean imp?” he questioned. Dwalin emptied his ale down his neck before answering.

            “Th’ thi’f ha’ s’me ‘elp,” he drawled. The slur was thick, but Frerin understood him fine. “I ‘ad ‘im by th’ arm,” he made a clumsy sweeping and grabbing motion at thin air, “was ‘bout t’ take ‘im in when su’enly ma coins ’re ringin’ and crashin’ ‘round.” Frerin raised questioning look he tried to his with his silver tankard. “I turn, an’ next thing I see the thief’s goin’ with a imp.”

            “You sure it was an imp?” Frerin couldn’t help but ask. He got a vigorous nod.

“A wee thin’ wit’ no beard. Didna make a soun’ at all. Short hair, pointy ears, gone in a blink.” Dwalin nodded again at himself. “Has ta be a imp. Not a dwarf, man er tree-shagger.”

Frerin mulled over this thoughtfully. If it really was an imp, which he had some doubts, could they have something to do with the sudden collapses of the mines?

He was pulled from his thoughts when Dwalin slumped over and began to mumble about the thief to the tabletop. “Ya shoulda seen them braids,” the fearsome guard muttered, face a deep red. “Ne’er seen prettier braids ‘n a preetier face.”

Frerin slapped his hand to his face. “I forgot this bit…” he groaned. He motioned for some servants to come and help. They can deal with Dwalin’s inebriated trouble, he was taking his ale to go.

 

* * *

 

 

As the King’s Council were busying themselves with talks of policy Bilba was back in Dori’s shop. They had sold a few pieces throughout the morning, and stopped for a midday meal. Dori had just put water in a copper tea kettle, when Nori came swaggering in.

“Where in Durin’s name have you been!?” Dori shrieked, as Nori kicked the shop door closed. Nori gave her brother a shit eating grin in response and held out a loaf of rye bread.

“Relax **nadad,”** she cooed sarcastically. “I’ve just been doing what I do best.” She plopped herself down next to Bilba. The changeling-hobbit gave her the same flat look Took and Brandybuck cousins get. “Anyway I’m starvin’.”

The three settled down to a meal of the dark bread and an overly meaty stew. Bilba felt awkward, given the obvious tension boiling over from Dori and his many glances at Nori. The hobbit tried to finish eating as fast as politely possible.

“How’s my brother been treatin’ ya?” Nori asked before ripping a slice of bread instead of using the bread knife laid out.

“Mister Dori is a very great employer,” Bilba praised, nodding at the silver haired dwarf. She gave them both a kind smile. Then a loud whistle came from the kettle.

“Oh **Mahal**!” Dori spluttered before rushing to take it off the fire. Bilba asked if he needed her to do anything. “I’ve got it. Think of it as part of my thanks for helping me.”

The changeling-hobbit was about to reply politely back, when Nori gave a sudden whistle.

“Never pictured you for a Broadbeam,” Nori said, ginning at Bilba while holding the pendant up by its string. Bilba instinctively put a hand against her chest and indeed felt no necklace. “Tin so must be some poor fella.” Nori continued, eyes sharply examining the trinket.

“Nori give that back at once!” Dori screeched, one hand grabbing for the necklace while the other held the kettle.

Bilba stood shock-still as the two wrangled for the necklace. Dori managed to grab a hold on the leather string as Nori tried to jerk it back. Then with a twang, Dori tugged and snapped the string as if it were a brittle thread. The pendant flew free of the string and it hit the side of the copper kettle.

There was a clear ring. And then Bilba heard the ringing ripple and continue again. She held her head in her hands. The sound was loud in the hobbit’s pointy ears, but this was unnatural. Then the ringing gave way to voices.

 _What is this?_ This voice was softer, hobbity; the words rolling like the Shire hills.  

 _**A gift for you.**_ The other voice was a heavy, hardier, deeper voice. Dwarven.

_Why would you give me this? What do I use it for?_

_**When you decide to go on your adventure, you can stay with my family.**_

_You’re a soppy dwarf you know? I’m underage. It’ll be years before I can go off on an adventure. Why give this to me now?_

_**… I don’t want you to forget me Hildigard…**_

The ringing ebbed away and Bilba opened her eyes. Nori and Dori were looking at her in confusion. Nori shifted from foot to foot, like a Tookish tween caught snagging a pinch of Old Toby. Dori moved towards the hobbit, face showing nothing but concern.

“Are you alright Master Baggins?” He asked placing his hand on the hobbit’s smaller shoulder.

“Yes,” Bilba answered quickly. “Yes, yes I’m fine. Just that hobbits have keen hearing.” Dori nodded seeming to accept the reasoning, but Nori cocked an eyebrow. The dwarrowdam bent down and picked up the fallen pendant.

“Here,” Nori blurted, holding the coin-pendant out between freckled fingers. “Sorry ‘bout that.” She looked to the side, avoiding either gaze going her way.

Bilba took the coin hesitantly. “It’s no trouble,” the hobbit waved off. “My friends and I used to do the same thing.”

“Really?” Dori queried, voice holding the faintest skepticism. Nori didn’t look too surprised given their meeting in the market.

“Yeah,” Bilba murmured, thoughts growing nostalgic. “Me, Paladin and Saradoc always pulled stupid little tricks on each other. Messing up spice cabinets, hiding clothes while we bathed, stealing a pie or three.”

The two wore puzzled expressions. “Thank you both very much for the luncheon, but I best be on my way. See you both tomorrow.” And with that Bilba walked out with a nostalgic smile.

Bilba’s smile slid down to a frown as she neared her current lodgings. Paladin was the first to get married, the first to have a child. So obviously he spent more time at home; the time spent with them was for duties to fight and defend. Saradoc was the next one, having married Pal’s little sister. Bilba was the only one to remain unmarried…and alive…

Bilba stopped short of the Ur family’s door, still as a willow tree.

Saradoc had died without ever having held Merry in his arms… he didn’t even know he would have a son.

And Paladin… poor cousin Paladin and his four sweet daughters… Tears welled up in Bilba’s hazel eyes, lips quivering from sealed sobs.

“Mama!” Merry cried out happily. The faunt had ran and lunged himself forward, knocking them both down. The hard stone was unpleasant to land on, but Bilba didn’t complain. Instead she hugged Merry, kissed his cheeks and nuzzled his nose.

Bilba sat them both up. “How was your day?” Merry asked, eyes bright and mouth smiling. **_Hildigard…_** the voice had echoed. But they were dead, Hildigard lay dead back in the west.

Bilba hesitated for a moment. “Absolutely fine Merry,” Bilba answered sweetly. She stood up and placed Merry on her hip. He wrapped his arms around her neck, a routine and familiar movement. “Now why don’t we go in, and you can tell me about your day.”

Merry beamed happily before babbling on about his adventure with Uslukh the dragon against the wicked magic boot, and Bilba forgot about the voices in the coin's ringing for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:
> 
> Azanulbizar- Battle for Moria  
> Nadad-brother  
> Mahal- Aule


	11. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo goes to forage, Sigrid receives two guests, and Thorin has a chat with his father

It was a crisp morning as winter drew near. But as it was still harvest season, Bilbo was determined to go out and collect whatever could be foraged. So with Pippin on his hip and Merry at his hand, the hobbit led his young charges to the woods that circle the foot of the Lonely Mountain.

Bilbo wasn’t surprised that it was different from all the woods he thoroughly explored back in the enclosed Shire. There were many evergreen pines that towered overhead, more than all the pines in the North Farthing.

Yet there was something oddly familiar about this specific area; growing more and more familiar as the hobbits wandered deeper into the gathering of trees. Bilbo had strange inklings, like where blackberry should grow, or where the most carpenter weed grows. But what was also odd was the sheer abundance of everything. As the harvest season wanes plants grow scarce, yet in this chilled place plants of all sorts grow plentiful.

Merry was collecting small handfuls of witch hazel, Pippin sprawled next to him playing with falling leaves. “How come we leave some behind Mama Bilba?” Merry asked as he scuttled to the loaned basket, and dropped the leaves in.

Bilbo turned over his shoulder and away from the white willow he was carefully stripping of bark. “Several reasons,” the older hobbit hummed. “If we take to much, the plants won’t grow back. And the fae don’t like greedy people, so we take only what we need.”

Merry nodded. “Like Mean Old Otho Baggins,” the boy huffed and crossed his arms. Bilbo hid his wince. His cousin was NOT a welcome topic, even before he tried to—

“Look Mama!” Merry crowed. “Look what Pip found!”

Bilbo whipped his head around, and saw the two marveling an ancient tree. Bilbo picked up the basket and got closer to examine it too.

“Wowie,” Merry giggled happily, holding Pippin in his arms.

It was a magnificent old tree. _This must be the heart of this forest,_ Bilbo mused. It was an elder tree, gnarled and large in it’s age. Berries hung low from it’s massive branches. There was a peculiar bend in the tree, near the roots that looked almost like a seat. _No a throne,_ Bilbo corrected.

The hobbit closed his eyes, and breathed in the crisp air and caught the whiff of elderberries, and was hit with sudden visions; each one a mere flash. White and red fur running past him. Broad, calloused hands on his skin. Something metal chiming around his head. The sweet-tart taste of cooked plums on his tongue.

“Mama?” Merry whispered, tugging at Bilbo’s slack hand. Bilbo blinked, and then blinked again. They weren’t alone.

There were four others staring back at them. They stood as tall as hobbits, but their feet were small and hairless, and their ears longer and pointier. But what was most eye-catching was the twisting floral marks that ran up and down their almost naked bodies.

“Hello,” one answered with a wave and a voice like a songbird. This one had long golden ringlets, bright green marks on their soft pale body, and glowing purple eyes.

“Hello,” Bilbo replied, offering a bow. Merry copied the older hobbit, holding a curiously gurgling Pippin in his arms.

“I am Maponos, child of Madron,” the fae introduced.

The taller one to the right of Maponos had a head of mousy sleek hair, rose colored eyes and tanned skin peppered with blue marks. “I am Alauna, child of Telo,” they spoke in a voice of an elk’s baritone.

Next to Alauna was the shortest of the four, with hair like nightshade, and matching black marks. Their green and grey eyes alight. “I am Andred, child of Reue,” they said, voice like a summer’s breeze.

On the other side of Maponos was a fae with bright red hair and flaming eyes, yellow marks stretching across their body. “I am Segomo, child of Mullo,” were their words, spoken in the hush of a bird’s flight.

Bilbo gulped, but found his courage. “I am Bilba, child of Belladonna, descendant of the _kudugin_ called Tooks,” he spoke slowly, carefully. “This is my son Meriadoc, born of Esmeralda. And with him is his cousin Peregrin child of Eglantine.”

All four gave respectful bows and nods of the head. “Long has it been since the _kudugin_ have walked these parts,” Alauna said. “We welcome you to the domain of Arawn,” they all spoke in unison.

  _Arawn…_ Bilbo’s mind went hazy at the name, but Merry’s hand snapped the hobbit back to reality. “We humbly thank you for your generosity,” Bilbo spluttered, never taking eyes off of the fae.

 “Tell us, child of nightshade,” Andred spoke eagerly. “Tell us a tale.”

  “We long for a tale to be told,” Segomo added. “Please, sit upon the _tromm_ and speak.” The fae motioned for Bilbo to take a seat upon the tree with a fluid hand.

 The hobbit felt anxious, and a tad apprehensive, but there was something about this tree, this wood… WHY was it so familiar?

 “Of course,” Bilbo replied smoothly. He sat upon the elder tree. It felt comfortable, like sitting on feather pillows. Bilbo rested the two children upon his lap, and the four fae sat upon the ground. All eyes eagerly looked to him, yet the hobbit’s words fell from his lips without conscious choice as his mind bordered on a haze once more.

           ------------------------

_Long, long ago, there was a lonely hunter. The lonely hunter lived in a lonely wood, collecting lonely herbs and lonely crops. While the hunter’s sibling all found love, they remained alone. Many had tried to win the hunter’s hand, one suitor persistently asking every dawn and dusk._

_“What must I do to win thy hand?” the suitor asked. To which the hunter replied simply:_

_“None shall win my hand, but a true king crowned by the stars themselves.”_

_From that day on, none have tried for the hunter’s hand. And so the hunter remained alone._

_One day, someone came stomping through the lonely wood. Now the hunter was curious, so they watched this stranger from afar. They were of a sort the hunter had never seen before. Decked in many layers, and carrying oddities upon their person. What became obvious to the hunter was that the stranger had no knowledge of the forest. They stomped on food, burned herbs, and almost ate poison on three occasions._

_The hunter had no idea why this stranger was here, so as twilight grew long, the hunter approached the stranger._

_“Why have you entered my forest?” the hunter asked. “I have heard of a lonesome being in a lonesome wood. I woke alone, no one at my side unlike my brothers. So I came to see you,” were their words._

_The lonely hunter, shocked, agreed to spend time with the stranger. Over the seasons they spent together they grew closer and closer. The hunter taught the stranger the uses of plants, and the speech of the weiko. In return the hunter taught the hunter secrets only he knew. The hunter’s sibling whispered happily, while the old suitor was skulking about in his envy._

_One morning, the stranger gave the hunter a gift. Two torcs, that gleamed in all light. The next morning the stranger gifted the hunter again. This time, it was a pair of tinkling bells. But the third morning there was no gift. The hunter was disappointed throughout the day, but as the sun set, the stranger took the hunter by the hand and led them upon a flat stone that opened to the sky._

_As day turned to night, stars crowned the stranger’s head. “My third gift to you, is my heart, for you are the one for me,” they whispered softly. The hunter’s joy lead to tears. “And you are the one for me, for my heart is yours,” the hunter whispered back. And a kiss they shared beneath the waking stars, sealing the untold promise that the hunter would be lonely no more._

_\------------------------_

Bilbo slipped back to full consciousness. The four fae were nowhere to be seen. Merry and Pippin and fallen asleep on his lap, both making soft sounds as they dreamed. The grown hobbit carefully placed the boys upon the _tromm_ seat, gently ensuring that neither woke.

“ _Suthno,”_ Bilbo hushed, giving each boy a soft kiss. After doing so, Bilbo picked up the basket, and went about picking medicine and food.

 

* * *

 

Sigrid was still at home, doing the same old chores, and going about the routine of it all. Da was working longer than usual to earn as much coin as possible before the lake froze over. And Bain was apprenticing as usual, and Tilda was off with her friends.

She slumped against the window, and gazed out to the sky. She sighed and closed her tired eyes. She envisioned herself on dry land, walking through a forest, and bearing her Da’s great big bow in her hands.

But, she could still hear the lapping of the lake water, and once more felt compelled to sing that odd song.

_Bittda en morgon innan solen upprann_

_Innan foglarna började –_

CRASH! “You idiot!” one voice hissed from under her window. She felt fear as the voice was not one she’d heard before.

“Me!?” a second voice hissed. “You were the one who shoved me!” There was the familiar sound of two having a fight.

Sigrid steeled herself, and opened the window. To her shock, there were two dwarves wrestling each other outside her house. Neither had noticed her, and she was still reeling her thoughts.

“Um,” she meekly called, for she had never met a dwarf before, “excuse me? Mister dwarves?” Neither had heard her over their grappling and growling. She started to get annoyed. _They’re acting like Bain and his friends!_ She decided to throw a small pebble to get their attention. It hit the brunette dwarf on the shoulder.

That got two pairs of eyes to stare at her. One a confused, but happy brown, the other a wide bright blue. The two looked similar enough that they could be related she supposed. The two quickly stood up. The brunette was taller and leaner, yet looked younger with the lack of beard. The blonde one was broad shouldered, his hair and mustache braided.

“Kili,” the brunette said with a wide grin. “And Fili,” the blonde blurted. “At your service,” they echoed with a bow. When they rose they still stared intensely at her.

“Sigrid, daughter of Hilja,” she greeted awkwardly under those stares. She heard the unmistakable sound of people rising for the day’s work. “Um… would you two care to come in?” she asked, wanting them both out of sight before the Master’s informants rose.

“Thanks!” Kili happily cheered before climbing up the window. Fili followed shortly after, and when he was inside she closed the window.

“Lovely place you have,” Kili said as his head whipped from side to side. “Do it all yourself?” Fili gave the other a questioning look.

“No,” Sigrid found herself saying, “been in my mother’s family for generations. I just upkeep the inside.” The two dwarves looked around the house with watchful eyes. “Erm, do you two want anything?”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you. You’re the one singing that song, yeah?” Kili asked as he swaggered about the room.

“How do you know about that?” She queried.

“We wandered by your house some days ago and heard you singing.” Kili answered honestly, despite the punch to the arm Fili gave him.  “Well, my brother here has been wonder ‘bout its meaning ever since he heard it. So we came down to find you.”

Fili shot a glare at his brother. Kili stuck his tongue out at the blonde. _Definitely brothers_ …

“I can tell you, if you like Mister Fili,” Sigrid said quickly before they got into another spat. Kili grinned at his brother, and plopped himself in one of the seats at the dinner table that she embarringly forgot to clear. “Thank you Miss Sigrid,” Fili said, grinning softly.

He sat down next to his brother, as she took her Da’s seat. The two were looking expectantly at her, thankfully not bringing up the cluttered table.

“It’s an old, Dalish song,” she vaguely said. It was a variation of Dalish, close enough for her to understand, but it was different than the one her Da taught her.

“It’s a story of a mountain-enchantress who’s under a curse. One early morning she sought the hand of Sir Mannelig. In exchange for her hand, she offered him twelve unsaddled steeds, twelve mills made of gold and silver, a gilded sword of fifteen gold rings, and a crocheted shirt of white silk. Sir Mannelig denies her, saying she’s the spawn of a river demon and the Dark One himself. She flees, crying about how she’d be free from her curse had she married that knight.”

“That’s a sad song,” Fili mused, looking down at his hands, and then at Sigrid. “So why don’t we liven the mood?” he asked, smirking alongside his brother.

The two stood, and began to pick up the eating knives. They clanged the knives against each other to a jaunty tune. Their smirks grew wider and they began to stomp to the beat.

“Can you not do that?” She frantically asked. “You’ll blunt them!” But instead of stopping them, the two just grinned wider.

“D’you hear that brother?” Fili drawled, “she says we’ll blunt the knives.” Their mischievous eyes made Sigrid worry.  

“Blunt the knives, bend the forks!” Kili sang, tossing the pair of knives into the sink., and motioning his brother to ‘bring it on.’

“Smash the bottles and burn the corks!” Fili sang as he tossed a bowl at his brother’s head, who thankfully caught it with ease.

“Chip the glasses and crack the plates. That’s what Sigrid Dearest hates!”

 

_Cut the cloth, trail the fat!_

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor!_

_Splash the wine on every door!_

_Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl!_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole!_

_When you’re finished if they are whole_

_Send them down the hall to roll!_

_That’s what Sigrid Dearest hates!_

Sigrid was still in shock at seeing the cutlery and dishes tossed across the room, and was busy gaping at the dishes stacked, and the utensils piled neatly. The two dwarf brothers were getting a good laugh at her expense.

There was a loud, rude knock at the front door. She went rigid, and turned to the two. “Go upstairs and hide,” she hissed, pointing to the stairs for the upper level of the house. The two dwarves looked confused, but Fili dragged his brother up by the arm.

Up on the top step, Fili peered down at her. She gave him a smile, but it must not have been very convincing, because his look was still concerned.

She nodded, and walked over to the front door. It was a sour faced guard who was beginning to grey and smelled like bad ale. He shoved his way past Sigrid and inside without preamble. “What are you doing!?” She screeched, growing more than annoyed.

“Been tol’ by Alfrid tha’ there be some thieves er somefink roun’ ‘ere,” the guard drawled, going through the living room, tossing aside the laundry basket, and shoving furniture about.

“There are no thieves under this roof,” she spat back. “Now leave, this is an invasion of privacy!”

The guard just waved her off, and continued on with his haphazard search. He was making a move for the stairs. She balled her hands into fists, and stepped towards him. “Leave my house. Now.” She demanded as he tossed Tilda’s blanket like it was scraps.

“And ‘oos gunna stop me? You?” He sneered, looking down at her. “Yer nufink but a housewif’ in trainin’. Wha’s the likes o’ yous to order me ‘round?”

Sigrid flushed in anger, and glowered at the man. “Anyways I’m done wit’ me search, lil missy. Seems like you lot are clear’d fer now.” He chortled before swaggered out. She slammed the door on him, her face red and her eyes stinging.

“Everything alright Miss Sigrid?” Fili asked as he stepped down the rickety wooden steps. She quickly rubbed her eyes before turning to face him.

“Yeah,” she murmured. She silently went about collecting the overturned laundry. She saw a large, broad hand piking up a towel. She met Fili’s blue eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured as she took the cloth from his hand.

Kili was turning furniture upright. “What in **Mahal’s** name was that about?” he asked as he moved a chair too far to the left. Fili was picking up some fallen trinkets and handing them back to her.

“He’s one of the guards,” she spat, folding a shirt roughly. “Loads of them are in the Master’s pocket. Or his Councilor’s.” She let loose a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Fili was looking at her with so much concern for someone he had just met. “It’s not your fault that guard was a pathetic piece of troll-spawn,” Fili argued. Kili chuckled at his brother’s choice of words.

“By the way Miss Sigrid,” Kili called. She put the laundry basket aside and out of their view. She hummed at him. “What did he mean by housewife in training?” Kili asked innocently.

Sigrid sighed again. “All I ever do now is clean, cook, and house managing, but I’m unmarried and live with my family,” she explained. “Some like to say that I’m training to be a dutiful, homebound wife.”

“Don’t you go out and have fun?” Fili asked, standing a politely small distance from Sigrid. “That sounds miserable.”

She bit her tongue. “I’m supposed to keep up the house,” she retorted. “And besides, most of the girls I used to play with have already married, and have no time for me. Some of the elders say it’s good that I already know my place.”

Kili opened his mouth to say something, but Sigrid cut him off. “Can you tell me what the mountain is like? I’ve never been there, and I was curious because there was a kind family I met who went up there.”

“Better yet,” Fili said, a mischievous grin growing on his face. “We’ll take you up to visit.” Kili and Sigrid gave him wide eyed looks.

“You will?” She asked, her voice eager. “We will?” Kili asked.

Fili nodded. “We’ll come by and take you up to see Erebor,” the blonde proposed happily. “We can show you all our favorite spots, maybe you can see this family you mentioned.”  

Sigrid chewed her lip in thought. It would be very nice to see Miss Bilba and her boys again. _But you have chores to do._ It would be nice to go on dry land again. _But who will mind the house._ It would be like an adventure…

“If it’s not too much trouble,” she said hesitantly. “And I have to be back before my Da gets home, but I would love to see the mountain.”

Fili grinned widely. “It’s a deal!” he proclaimed, extending his hand out to her. She shook it tentatively, not at all like the merchants closing a deal. “We’ll be back in...” he paused and tapped his bearded chin. “Three days. We’ll come by that bridge.”

“I--” she stuttered for a moment. “I can meet you by that gate. The guards are always late, so I should be able to--”

“We’ll come by in the early morning, and bring you back before dusk.” Fili promised. She grinned down at him. And he grinned back up at her.

Kili coughed loudly. “Fili,” he said, a smirk on his lips. “If we’re to get back before Mother catches us you need to let go of Miss Sigrid’s hand.”

The two looked down, and indeed they were still holding each other’s hand. They jerked away awkwardly. “See you in three days, Miss Sigrid.”

“Same to you, Mister Fili,” she replied as she led them to the back door. And after checking that no informant was skulking about, the two dwarves hurried away.

Sigrid went back to her housework, but did so with a smile for the first time in a very long while.

* * *

Thorin was returning from the forge. He managed to lose himself in his craft, and was carrying his items back to his quarters. He had just opened his door when a jittery servant hurried towards him. “Your Highness,” the servant called, a page by the uniform. “His Majesty calls for your presence.”

Thorin wanted so badly to groan, and just be by himself. “In a moment,” he snapped, as he entered his apartments, and placed his crafted items on the nearest table. He walked out, and past the page with nothing more than a growl.

It was midday, and his father was a creature of habit. So the first place Thorin walked to was his father’s usual haunt.

And as Thorin descended the stairs to the royal mausoleum, he heard the sounds of the King’s mutterings. At the base of the stairs, the familiar dread filled the prince once more. Yet, he steeled himself and walked on.

He passed the tombs of his ancestors, past his grandfather and grandmother, and stopped well short of his father.

“You wished to see me,” Thorin called, voice echoing off the cold stone.

King Thrain was bedecked in his iconic luxurious black clothes and furs, gold being the only color upon his person. Thrain peered over his shoulder and looked at his eldest.

“I did,” the King Under the Mountain affirmed, his voice as welcoming as the coffin slabs as he turned around and busied his hands. “That meeting I went to,” he curtly spoke. _The only one you’ve been to in three seasons._ “Have they found out why my mines are collapsing?” _My mines he says._

“Not yet,” Thorin stiffly replies, averting his eyes away from his father. “There are theories, but nothing definitive.” The prince swayed from foot to foot, itching to leave.

The King held an amethyst necklace up to the light of the glowing crystals that lit the palace. He hummed, oblivious to the discomfort of Thorin.

“And our treaties? Are they agreeable?”

“The one with Iron Hills has no qualms. There have been some strains with the Blue Mountain colony on their part, and the Mirkwood treaty is the same as before.” Thorin spoke firmly. “Lord Dain plans to visit for Durin’s Day,” he tacked on.

Thrain hummed disinterestedly, as he fiddled with the purple stones. “I don’t care for parties, or gatherings. Just ensure that everything is ready for your cousin’s arrival.” The king ordered.

“Of course,” Thorin answered.

“Good, now go waste your time elsewhere, I’m busy.” And with that Thorin walked away as quickly as possible away from his father, and his mother’s opened tomb.

The Crown Prince made a beeline for his apartments, slamming the door as he did so. He slid against the floor, running a hand through his tangled hair. He breathed deeply, and willed away the images of his father combing the scraggly dead hair, and putting new jewels on the skeletal corpse.

When he calmed himself down enough, he went to inspect what he had crafted. A new knife for Fili with his sister-son’s seal, a new hair clip for Kili since he’s still too young for proper braids, and two… he wasn’t sure what they were. They were large circular rings that opened to one end, too large to be bracelets, and too small to wear on one’s head. He flushed at the thought of wasting his craft on making something useless. So the two strange items he hid in a drawer of his desk.

 _Might as well get some more work done,_ the Crown Prince mused, before sitting in his finely cushioned seat, and going over the transcript from the previous meeting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for the names of the faeries I took them from Celtic mythology, gods, goddesses, characters from legends, etc. And if you're wondering a torc is a sort of necklace worn as a status symbol among Gaulish and Celtic people. Typically they're big and heavy, and looks hard to take off, although they have been used as offerings or for ceremonial purposes (I think, again, info is coming from the internet). 
> 
>  
> 
> Khuzdul:
> 
> Mahal- Aule
> 
> Greenspeech:
> 
> tromm- elder tree  
> weiko- raven  
> suthno-sleep


	12. Durin's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Durin's Day under the mountain

            Sigrid was excited to see Fili and Kili again. She went about the next two days with a happy grin on her face as she thought of the two young dwarves. Her father seemed pleased that she was happy, Bain didn’t bring attention to her lightened mood. Only Tilda questioned her about it.

            “How come you’re so happy now?” She asked one night as Sigrid washed the dishes. Tilda’s eyes were trained on her older sister, gaze curious and innocent.

            Sigrid hummed as she thought of the best way to reply. “I’m happy because something happened that made me so,” she answered as she dried a plate. And that was that until the day she’d looked forward to came.

            It was a crisp, chilled morning. The sky was painted with the pastels of dawn, as the lake lay sleeping for a bit more time. Sigrid prepared a quick breakfast that wouldn’t require her services, like what she does whenever she ventures out to the market district.

            She donned her freshly cleaned skirts and blouse with her thick coat, a scarf and a woolen hat. She let her long braid hang down instead of tying it back since she wasn’t going to be cooking or cleaning today.

            She scurried along the rickety walkways, not being recognized by the early rising fishermen as they prepped for a long day on the water. She made it to the gate of the only land bridge Laketown has. There was no guard because the weather was nippy and most of the Master’s men enjoyed a long drink to warm themselves after the sun has risen well into the sky. She shuffled from foot to foot as she waited impatiently for the dwarves to whisk her away for the day.

A loud splash rang from the side of the bridge. Cautiously, she stepped to the source of the noise. She peered over hesitantly only to meet a pair of silver glowing eyes.

            A lady was in the water. Her bare arms crossed as she leaned over and onto the bridge. The only cover Sigrid could spot was her flowing, slick blue-black hair that clung to her body. Her eyes glowed silver like a pair of moons and there was a shimmery water drop tattoo at the corner of each heavily lidded eye.

            “Hello Sigrid,” this strange lady spoke, her voiced washed out and low. She looked at her with drooping eyes, as if she had just woken from a deep slumber and hasn’t fully woken up.

Sigrid went rigid. Her mouth opened and closed as her brain turned to formulate a response. “Erm… hello,” she mumbled warily.

            “I am Nimue,” she replied in that same voice. “I wish to thank you for carrying my song upon the air once more. Long has my song been kept to the waters. I would very much be thankful should my song be taken up to the mountains and the surrounding wood.”

            Sigrid gazed cautiously. There was a strange tingle that ran up her spine. She knew Nimue was not a lady of Men, there was something about her that made Sigrid wary. It was that feeling you get when the waters grow dark and you cannot see what swims below the surface, that instinctual sense of warning trickled through the bargeman’s daughter.

            “I can sing your song on my way over,” She said, her tone uneasy.

Nimue noticed, her mouth forming a soft ‘o’ as she blinked sleepily at Sigrid. _“_ Be not afraid of me Sigrid. I wish you no harm,” Nimue cooed, her voice as soothing and smooth as water. “But there is one who seeks to bring all to ruin.”  

            Then in a blink of an eye, she was gone.

Sigrid walked towards the edge to catch a glimpse of her, but found none.

            _Where could she have gone? And how could she have been in the water stark naked during this time of the year!?_

Sigrid was pulled out of her thoughts by a familiar voice calling her name from further down the bridge. She met the dwarf brothers halfway, their grins infectious.

            “You ready to join us Miss Sigrid?” Fili asked eagerly, offering her his arm. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she chuckled and took both of their arms, letting the two lead her up to the mountain as she sang Nimue’s song along the way.

            Fili and Kili joined in every now and again as the three trekked up to the Lonely Mountain. When she was done singing, the brothers joked and made her laugh till she was red in the face.

            They neared the mountain, and Sigrid would be lying if those gatekeeper statues didn’t intimidate her. “C’mon!” Kili crowed, tugging her along like an excited puppy on a leash. They walked to the statue on the left-hand side and walked around the base.

            “They’ll be changing the guards soon,” Fili said as they hid around a corner. “When that’s happening, we’ll slip inside.” He gave her a sunny grin that she couldn’t help but return.

            “Let’s go!” Kili stage whispered, bolting for the doors, quickly followed by Fili and Sigrid who, after a brief unspoken agreement, turned it into a race. The two brothers were neck and neck and slammed each other to gain the lead. Sigrid wasn’t used to running and the only reason she was keeping up with them was due to her longer stride.

            She stopped to catch her breath, hands on her knees. Fili noticed and turned his worried blue eyes on her. “Are you alright, Miss Sigrid?”

            She grinned at him through her panting. She was inside the mountain, away from her house, the kitchen and the lake. She stood up, her feet steady atop the unyielding stone. “What do you want to do for fun?” she asked.

 

* * *

 

            Bilba was puzzled to say the least. The Ur family home was decorated with baubles and dwarven _mathoms_ upon every surface. Dalla and Bifur sang songs in Khuzdul and cheered loudly. The children had a wonderful time, but Bilba was just confounded.

            So she went to work instead. She noted the richly colored banners overhead, and dwarves relaxing and making merry. She wondered about this too as she headed to Dori’s shop. She opened the door and waltzed in.

            Dori had given her a half day, but she stayed after to get a jump on an order for winter cloaks. A merchant was paying a good amount of coin for these cloaks before the frost sets in, something about going to trade in the Orocani, unless Bilba misheard.

            By late afternoon only Nori was there, twiddling a small pen-knife between her nimble fingers, bored and whistling a tune as she leaned back in a wooden chair. “Afternoon Nori,” Bilba politely greeted.

            “Hullo,” the dwarrowdam called, eyes flickering to the changeling. “How’s your Durin’s Day been so far?”

            “Durin’s what-now?” The hobbit couldn’t help but ask.

“Durin’s Day,” the auburn haired dwarf corrected, still twiddling the knife. “It’s today.”

            Bilba shook her curly head. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of.”

Nori looked shocked; mouth hanging open, knife stilled. Then she gave a hearty laugh.

“What?” Bilba retorted.

            “I fergot you wouldn’ know what Durin’s Day is,” Nori snickered. “Durin was th’ firs’ of th’ dwarves, an’ the first ancestor of Erebor’s royal family. Today marks th’ day when Durin was crowned king, the’first of our kind to do so. ‘e ruled for a very very long time over th’ greatest of dwarven kingd’ms.”

            “Erebor?” Bilba wondered aloud.

“Nah,” Nori dismissed, waving the knife. “Khazad Dûm. Moria you may know ‘t as. Erebor was founded after Khazad Dûm was lost to a balrog.”

            “You’re quite knowledgeable on this subject Nori,” Bilba praised. Nori snickered.

            “Nah, that’s Ori,” she crowed. “Ori?”

“Mine an’ Dori’s little brother. Baby faced scribe. He used t’ talk of his studies when he was training t’ enter the Scribes Guild, an’ I unfortunately had ta sit ‘nd listen whenever I wanted ta eat.” She griped, but there was a good natured spark in her dark eyes.

            “Where is Ori, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bilba inquired. Nori frowned a little.

            “He lives in the Guild House now, has since his acceptance. He only really comes by every Durin’s Day since he’s busy now. He’s usually ‘ere by now… unless he’s forgotten…”

            Bilba made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. Nori just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” she grunted before jumping out of the chair, not caring that it got knocked over.

            “Say, Bilba,” Nori grinned cheekily. “Care to go for a drink with me?”

            Bilba should have known better given that mischievous gleam that was too Tookish for a dwarf. But the changeling hobbit smiled, and decided ‘why not?’

           

* * *

 

            Thorin wanted nothing more than to sleep for an age. Dain Ironfoot came for his routine visit from the Ironhills, and as per usual it fell to the Crown Prince to arrange everything. Sleeping quarters, food, and so on needed his approval, plus all the extraneous baggage his father kept laying on him.

            However, it was Durin’s Day, and as a dwarven prince of Durin’s Line, he was always being bowed to and bothered. So as Frerin kept Dain occupied with drinking and songs and stories of the troublesome duo he calls sister-sons.

            Speaking of those two, Thorin hasn’t heard any mayhem caused by them so far, which while a relief was also a bit disconcerting. Usually they saved their biggest and “best” pranks for Durin’s Day, yet so far nothing. _They’re probably setting some massive mess for later this day…_

He shoved the terrifying thought to the side to retire to his apartments. He kicked the door open and shut with a heavy thud of his iron capped boots. He didn’t bother taking any refinery off before falling onto his plush bed like a fallen pillar. And almost instantly he slept.

* * *

 

            “Are you sure this is safe?”

            Fili and Kili looked at each other then back at Sigrid. “It’s a short cut to the rock garden,” Kili explained, gesturing to the grimy looking hole in the wall. “This way no guards can catch us and get us in trouble.”

            “It’s not a far tunnel,” Fili inputted. “Just a couple yards of crawling and then we walk the rest. We’ll guide you there.”  

            Sigrid eyed the tunnel suspiciously. It was a very low one, even the two dwarf brothers would need to crawl or crouch to get out, and she was a good deal taller than the both of them. Before she could voice her apprehension again, Kili slid in and out of sight, chuckling as he went.

            “It’s worth the trek in my opinion,” Fili said. “Is it?” she mused.

            “Oh, yes,” he answered with a passion. “There’s a collection of semi-precious stones that cover the floor of the garden, and tall glittering statues that are inlaid with gems, gold and silver, and on the ceiling are lots of glowing crystals that make it look like a star-filled night.”

            “And what do you do there?” she queried.

            “Create plans with Ki for pranks, avoid our tutors, sword practice,” he listed off with a shrug.

            _Tutors?_ Sigrid noted. _Must be from a well-to-do family if they can afford multiple tutors. I wonder what they do?_ Instead of asking where his family earned their supposed wealth, she nodded her head.

            “Come on!” Kili’s shout echoed impatiently. “You two are as slow as treacle!”

            Fili rolled his eyes and made a rude face to the shadows of the tunnel. He turned to her and gave a deep bow, his broad arms gesturing to the mouth of the tunnel. “Ladies first,” he heralded with a cheeky grin.

            She felt her cheeks go pink, before returning his bow with a clumsy curtsy. Sigrid swallowed her anxiety and crawled into the tunnel.

            The dark was suffocating, the air thick with dust and a faint taste of a metallic tang that coated the tongue. She slowly crept along, using her shaking hands to feel along the ground. Small pebbled indented into her palms, but she continued on with the goal to get out.

            Then she heard a knock. A heavy sort of knock, like when something heavy hits something hard. Like metal against stone. Knock. Knock Knock.

            “What was that?” she asked Fili, panic coloring her tone.

            “I don’t know,” Fili’s voice answered in the dark, as the knocking started again. Knock. Knock.

            Then the ground started to shake, rattling the dwarf and girl. “What’s happening!?” she screamed, trying to keep her head from hitting the stone. She felt a pair of short, thick arms and a pair of callused hands on her.

            “Come on!” Fili shouted above the din of quaking rocks. He crawled next to her, guiding her by her waist forwards, the worrying thuds coming mostly from where his body was as rocks landed on him.

            “Hurry!” Kili screamed from the other end. Sigrid was about to reply, when a hard stone hit her head. Her vision swam, vertigo worsened by the unstill tunnel. She could hear the brothers calling her name. Then her mind went as dark as the tunnel.

           

* * *

 

            _He was inside Erebor, an Erebor he recognized from the days before he was confined to the gilded walls of the palace. He walked down somewhere in the Lower Levels, for the stone was carved and adorned with dwarves of various walks of life._

_He could see only one thing clearly. It was a small building, built of various cheap sturdy stones. It had a rusty sign that read The Chipped Axe, complete with a picture of one. He stepped inside._

_There were flagons and tankards and barrels—a tavern. It was all lit with warm amber lanterns that bathed the room in a warm golden glow. He swiveled his head, and found that there was another in this lonely room._

_Sitting at a table in the center, was the stranger in the shawl. Their face was covered as usual, the shawl’s brocade covering all of their small stature. They raised a small hand, and with the curl of a finger beckoned him to come closer. And come hither he did._

_He stood at the opposite side of the table, staring intently to the shadows that hid this stranger’s face. The stranger stood, a foot shorter than him, and stepped towards him. They stood so close their chests nearly brushed against each other._

_That small hand that called for him was raised once more, and he felt the soft, warm hand cup his bearded cheek with a gentleness he swore felt familiar._

_That hand didn’t move from his face, even as the tavern shattered and gave way to the outside. The Long Lake was torrential, waves slamming against themselves and the shore. The winds carried unearthly howls._

_Shadows of various sizes ran from hounds with white and red fur. And still that hand did not move, nor did he._

_He stood there like a statue, still. A soft lyrical voice whispered in his ear. “Remember.”_

_The small thumb stroked his cheek. “Remember.”_

_The other hand cupped his face. “Remember how Death has ceased hunting you down,” they whispered. “Remember what you buried in the darkness.”_

_For the first time, he moved. His broad hands encompassed the small ones. Looking intently in the shadows for a face to hone in on. “Who are you?” he asked._

_“One who struggles with remembrance,” was all the stranger whispered, dainty hands slipping free._

He woke up.

 

* * *

 

            Nori threw back the last swallow of ale, as six other dwarves swore and snarled around the table. Nori, Bilba found, was exceptional at gambling. She cleared those six dwarves of their bets, but Bilba wondered if the dam’s swift fingers sliding cards about had anything to do with it.

            Meanwhile the hobbit nursed a small tankard of ale, far too bitter for hobbit tastes. The changeling hobbit silently longed for the mead the Green Dragon served, for brews heavy and rich like the good earth that fed all of them.

            She set the drink down and twirled the coin necklace between thin fingers. Her hazel eyes trying again to burn the symbol into her memory. But there was something about this coin that affected her, much like the Faerie throne.

            The table Nori was playing at emptied and so Bilba took a seat at the center table. Nori had a shit eating grin plastered to her face as she counted the coins. “Remind me to never play against you,” the hobbit chided. Nori snorted before putting her winnings in a coin purse.

            “Bilbo?” a familiar voice asked. Lo and behold, standing there with a tankard in one hand and covered from floppy hat to toe in grime, was Bofur. He gave his signature cheery smile before sitting next to the hobbit.

            Nori arched a single eyebrow, dark eyes assessing the other dwarf carefully. “How has your Durin’s Day been Bofur?” Bilba asked. The miner rolled his eyes and gulped some beer.

            “Had to go to a mine. Some bairns got stuck in a shaft,” he explained. “Other than that, pretty damn good.”

            Bofur turned his gaze to Nori, and his grin widened. “Bofur, at your service,” he told her, tipping his hat. The dwarrowdam gazed coolly at him. “Nori,” was all she said, not taking her eyes off of him.

            Bofur took her behavior in stride, grinning and taking another sip. “Nori,” Bilba said, Baggins-y etiquette rearing its head. “This is Bofur. His family is hosting mine.” She turned to Bofur. “Nori’s brother Dori is my employer,” the hobbit explained to the hatted miner.

            “Really?” he asked happily. “Y’know, my brother, Bombur, has been wanting to thank your brother for hiring our hobbit here.” Bofur smiled, taking a long pull of his tankard. “If it’s not too much trouble, d’you know where I could find your brother?”

            Nori turned a questioning gaze between the hobbit and the miner. Bilba nodded and smiled. “You two go on and find Dori, I was going to head back to my boys,” the hobbit decided. Nori took another questioning glance at Bofur before downing the last of her ale, and leaving the table.

            “You coming Bofur?” she called over her shoulder. Bofur grinned, downed his beer and took off after giving a wink to Bilba.

            The hobbit sighed, alone at the table in the middle of a crowded, rowdy tavern. After paying the bill, the hobbit went for the door. On her way there she bumped into a broad chest, and stumbled a few steps back.

            She craned her neck to look at this dwarf. He was very handsome, with sharp features, a neatly trimmed beard, thick black hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky. He wore simple, yet finely made clothes, and had only two small braids that framed his face.

            He wore a look of annoyance, before it grew into concern and surprise. He wrapped a broad hand around Bilba’s arm in a belated attempt to steady the hobbit. “Sorry,” she mumbled, going pink with embarrassment.

            The hand on her arm didn’t move. “Pray, don’t mention it,” the stranger replied, voice a deep baritone. The dwarf’s blue eyes stared keenly at Bilba’s, calloused hand not moving from its perch.

            “I’m sorry have we met before?” she questioned with a polite smile, silently hoping he would let go of her arm.

            The dwarf narrowed his eyes slightly and his brow furrowed, but he didn’t let go. “Most likely not,” the dwarf grumbled.

            Bilba turned her eyes to her encased arm, and that led to the dwarf’s slow retraction of his broad hand from her body. “You’re not from Erebor,” the dwarf plainly spoke.

Bilba nodded and replied “I am a Hobbit of the Shire, far to the west of here.” She extended her hand for him to shake. “Bilbo Baggins, but I am also called Bilba.”

The dwarf just stared at the offered hand strangely, intently and eagerly, but he didn’t touch the hobbit’s hand. He gave a shallow nod of his raven-haired head. “I’m… Thorin,” he reluctantly returned.

Bilba kept her eyes from narrowing as her ingrained etiquette was incensed. _Dwarves and their vexing mannerisms,_ she thought huffily.  “Excuse me Thorin, but I must be going,” she chirped, making an escape out of the rowdy tavern. She was out the door, but somehow managed to pick up on the thudding footsteps of a dwarf tailing her. She looked over her shoulder.

It was Thorin. _What does he want?_

“Do you need something Thorin?” she asked politely.

He stopped his stomping for a moment before catching up with her. He stood next to her, his eyes trained on her face, as if her were trying to etch it to memory. It was…odd to say the least.

“Dwarves can get rowdy on Durin’s Day,” he gruffly answered. “And you’re not a dwarf.”

She refrained from acting on more Tookish instincts. “Yes?”

“It’d be in your best interests to have someone walk with you,” he answered, crossing his arms in an almost imperious manner that made her want to do something that would make Old Took proud.

“Are you offering me your services as a chaperone?” she jested, a glint came to her eyes that made her look so much like her mother.

His mouth began to work soundlessly before jerkily nodding in agreement.

Now it was her turn to be surprised. Surely he had something better to do. _Perhaps he’s being polite…_

“Yes,” he finally replied. “Many had been drinking now, so some may cause you trouble…”

She smiled at the thoughtfulness of this dwarf.

“And you’re so small and tiny…”

The smile fell right off her beardless face. “I beg your pardon?” she snapped.

Obviously he misheard her tone because he answered her.  “With your stature and how soft you look, a drunkard would surely cause you a great deal of harm if you were caught unawares, and-”

She marched up to the dark haired dwarf and jabbed a nimble finger against his chest. “Just because I’m not as bulky as you dwarves doesn’t mean I’m weak or stupid,” she hissed. Her eyes narrowed on his shocked face. “I’ve seen and lived through horrors you’ve yet to dream of, and I’ve survived all the way from there to here without a dwarf to keep me safe. And I certainly won’t be needing one who thinks so lowly of me.”

“And you’d best remember that,” She pulled back her appendage back, before turning on her bare heel. “Farewell, Thorin,” she snapped from over her shoulder to his wide eyed gaze as he stood there dumbly by the doorway of the Chipped Axe tavern as she walked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. Been super busy with personal matters and university and haven't had the time to update this fic. Hopefully you like it!


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